fl 


* 


4 


I 


~2ii 


>\Yui&.skv 


w 


>^% 


FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM  TO 

THE  LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/breakfastOOholm 


THE  PROFESSOR 


BREAKFAST-TABLE 


THE    PROFESSOI*<tacALSf 


I  OCT  ?3  1937 


BREAKFAST-TABLE; 


WITH    THE 


STORY  OF    IRIS. 


By  OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES, 

AUTHOR   OF   "THE   AUTOCRAT  OF   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE." 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS 


M  DCC.-C  LX. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE! 

STEREOTYPED      AND      PRINTED      BY 

H.   0.   HOUGHTON  AND    COMPANY. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

What  he  said,  what  he  heard,  and  what  he  saw. 


I  intended  to  have  signalized  my  first  appear- 
ance by  a  certain  large  statement,  which  I  flatter 
myself  is  the  nearest  approach  to  a  universal  for- 
mula of  life  yet  promulgated  at  this  breakfast-table. 
It  would  have  had  a  grand  effect.  For  tins  pur- 
pose I  fixed  my  eyes  on  a  certain  divinity-student, 
with  the  intention  of  exchanging  a  few  phrases, 
and  then  forcing  my  court-card,  namely,  The  great 
end  of  being-.  —  I  will  thank  you  for  the  sugar,  —  I 
said.  —  Man  is  a  dependent  creature. 

It  is  a  small  favor  to  ask,  —  said  the  divinity- 
student, —  and  passed  the  sugar  to  me. 

Life  is  a  great  bundle    of  little   things,  —  I 

said. 

The  divinity-student  smiled,  as  if  that  was  the 
concluding  epigram  of  the  sugar  question. 

You  smile, —  I  said. —  Perhaps  life  seems  to  you 
a  little  bundle  of  groat  things  ? 


2  THE   PKOFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

The  divinity-student  started  a  laugh,  but  sud- 
denly reined  it  back  with  a  pull,  as  one  throws  a 
horse  on  his  haunches.  —  Life  is  a  great  bundle  of 
great  things,  —  he  said. 

(Now,  then!)  The  great  end  of  being^after  all, 
is 

Hold  on  !  —  said  my  neighbor,  a  young  fellow 
whose  name  seems  to  be  John,  and  nothing  else, 
—  for  that  is  what  they  all  call  him,  —  hold  on!  the 
Sculpin  is  go'n'  to  say  somethin'. 

Now  the  Sculpin  ( Coitus  Virginianus)  is  a  little 
water-beast  which  pretends  to  consider  itself  a  fish, 
and,  under  that  pretext,  hangs  about  the  piles  upon 
which  West-Boston  Bridge  is  built,  swallowing  the 
bait  and  hook  intended  for  flounders.  On  being 
drawn  from  the  water,  it  exposes  an  immense  head, 
a  diminutive  bony  carcass,  and  a  surface  so  full 
of  spines,  ridges,  ruffles,  and  frills,  that  the  natu- 
ralists have  not  been  able  to  count  them  without 
quarrelling  about  the  number,  and  that  the  colored 
youth,  whose  sport  they  spoil,  do  not  like  to  touch 
them,  and  especially  to  tread  on  them,  unless  they 
happen  to  have  shoes  on,  to  cover  the  thick  white 
soles  of  their  broad  black  feet. 

When,  therefore,  I  heard  the  young  fellow's  ex- 
clamation, I  looked  round  the  table  with  curiosity 
to  see  what  it  meant.  At  the  further  end  of  it  I 
saw  a  head,  and  a  small  portion  of  a  little  de- 
formed   body,    mounted    on    a    high    chair,    which 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BKEAKT AST-TABLE.  3 

brought  the  occupant  up  to  a  fair  level  enouirh 
for  him  to  get  at  his  food.  His  whole  appearance 
was  so  grotesque,  I  felt  for  a  minute  as  if  there 
was  a  showman  behind  him  who  would  pull  him 
down  presently  and  put  up  Judy,  or  the  hang- 
man, or  the  Devil,  or  some  other  wooden  person- 
age  of  the  famous  spectacle.  I  contrived  to  lose 
the  first  part  of  his  sentence,  but  what  I  heard 
began  so : — 

by  the  Frog-Pond,  when  there  were  frogs  in 

it,  and  the  folks  used  to  come  down  from  the  tents 
on  'Lection  and  Independence  days  with  their 
pails  to  get  water  to  make  egg-pop  with.  Born 
in  Boston ;  went  to  school  in  Boston  as  long  as 
the  boys  would  let  me.  —  The  little  man  groaned, 
turned,  as  if  to  look  round,  and  went  on.  —  Ran 
away  from  school  one  day  to  see  Phillips  hung 
for  killing  Denegri  with  a  loggerhead.  That  was 
in  flip  days,  when  there  were  always  two  or  three 
loggerheads  in  the  fire.  I'm  a  Boston  boy,  I  tell 
you,  —  born  at  North  End,  and  mean  to  be  buried 
on  Copps'  Hill,  with  the  good  old  underground 
people,  —  the  Worthylakes,  and  the  rest  of  'em. 
Yes,  Sir,  —  up  on  the  old  hill,  where  they  buried 
Captain  Daniel  Malcolm  in  a  stone  grave,  ten 
feet  deep,  to  keep  him  safe  from  the  red-coats,  in 
those  old  times  when  the  world  was  frozen  up 
tight  and  there  wasn't  but  one  spot  open,  and 
that    was    right    over    Faneuil    Hall,  —  and    black 


4  THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

enough  it  looked,  I  tell  you !  There's  where  my 
bones  shall  lie,  Sir,  and  rattle  away  when  the  big 
guns  go  off  at  the  Navy  Yard  opposite  !  You 
can't  make  me  ashamed  of  the  old  place!  Full 
of  crooked  little  streets ;  —  I  was  born  and  used  to 

run  round  in  one  of  'era 

1  should  think  so,  —  said   that   young   man 


whom  I  hear  them  call  "  John,"  —  softly,  not  mean- 
ing to  be  heard,  nor  to  be  cruel,  but  thinking  in 
a  half-whisper,  evidently.  —  I  should  think  so ;  and 
got  kinked  up,  turnin'  so  many  corners.  —  The  lit- 
tle man  did  not  hear  what  was  said,  but  went 
on, — 

full  of  crooked  little  streets;  but  I  tell   you 

Boston  has  opened,  and  kept  open,  more  turnpikes 
that  lead  straight  to  free  thought  and  free  speech 
and  free  deeds  than  any  other  city  of  live  men  or 
dead  men,  —  I  don't  care  how  broad  their  streets 
are,  nor  how  high  their  steeples ! 

How  high  is  Bosting  meet'n'-house  ?  —  said 

a  person  with  black  whiskers  and  imperial,  a  vel- 
vet waistcoat,  a  guard-chain  rather  too  massive, 
and  a  diamond  pin  so  very  large  that  the  most 
trusting  nature  might  confess  an  inward  sugges- 
tion, —  of  course,  nothing  amounting  to  a  suspicion. 
For  this  is  a  gentleman  from  a  great  city,  and 
sits  next  to  the  landlady's  daughter,  who  evidently 
believes  in  him,  and  is  the  object  of  his  especial 
attention. 


TllK   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  5 

How  high  ?  —  said  the  little  man.  —  As  high  as 
the  first  stop  of  the  stairs  that  lead  to  the  New 
Jerusalem.     Isn't  that  high  enough  ? 

It  is,  —  I  said. —  The  great  end  of  being  is  to 
harmonize  man  with  the  order  of  things ;  and  the 
church  has  been  a  good  pitch-pipe,  and  may  be 
so  still.     But  who  shall  tune  the  pitch-pipe  ?    Quis 

cks (On  the  whole,  as  this  quotation  was  not 

entirely  new,  and,  being  in  a  foreign  language, 
might  not  be  familiar  to  all  the  boarders,  I  thought 
I  would  not  finish  it.) 

Go  to  the  Bible !  —  said  a  sharp  voice  from 

a  sharp-faced,  sharp-eyed,  sharp-elbowed,  strenuous- 
looking  woman  in  a  black  dress,  appearing  as  if 
it  began  as  a  piece  of  mourning  and  perpetuated 
itself  as  a  bit  of  economy. 

You  speak  well,  Madam, — I  said; — yet  there  is 
room  for  a  gloss  or  commentary  on  what  you  say. 
"  He  who  would  bring  back  the  wealth  of  the  In- 
dies must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the  Indies." 
What  you  bring  away  from  the  Bible  depends  to 
some  extent  on  what  you  carry  to  it.  —  Benja- 
min Franklin!  Be  so  good  as  to  step  up  to  my 
chamber  and  bring  me  down  the  small  uncovered 
pamphlet  of  twenty  pages  which  you  will  find 
lying  under  the  "  Cruden's  Concordance."  [The 
boy  took  a  large  bite,  which  left  a  very  perfect 
crescent  in  the  slice  of  bread-and-butter  he  held, 
and    departed    on    his    errand,    with    the    portable 


6  THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

fraction  of  his  breakfast  to  sustain  him  on  the 
way.] 

Here  it  is.  "  Go  to  the  Bible.  A  Dissertation, 
etc.,  etc.  By  J.  J.  Flournoy.  Athens,  Georgia. 
1858." 

Mr.  Flournoy,  Madam,  has  obeyed  the  precept 
which  you  have  judiciously  delivered.  You  may 
be  interested,  Madam,  to  know  what  are  the  con- 
clusions at  which  Mr.  J.  J.  Flournoy  of  Athens, 
Georgia,  has  arrived.  You  shall  hear,  Madam. 
He  has  gone  to  the  Bible,  and  he  has  come  back 
from  the  Bible,  bringing  a  remedy  for  existing 
social  evils,  which,  if  it  is  the  real  specific,  as  it 
professes  to  be,  is  of  great  interest  to  humanity, 
and  to  the  female  part  of  humanity  in  particular. 
It  is  what  he  calls  trig-amp,  Madam,  or  the  marry- 
ing of  three  wives,  so  that  "  good  old  men  "  may 
be  solaced  at  once  by  the  companionship  of  the 
wisdom  of  maturity,  and  of  those  less  perfected 
but  hardly  less  engaging  qualities  which  are  found 
at  an  earlier  period  of  life.  He  has  followed  your 
precept,  Madam  ;  I  hope  you  accept  his  conclu- 
sions. 

The  female  boarder  in  black  attire  looked  so 
puzzled,  and,  in  fact,  "  all  abroad,"  after  the  deliv- 
ery of  this  "  counter  "  of  mine,  that  I  left  her  to  re- 
cover her  wits,  and  went  on  with  the  conversation, 
which  I  was  beginning  to  get  pretty  well  in  hand. 

But  in  the    mean   time    I   kept   my  eye    on    the 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.  7 

female  boarder  to  see  what  effect  I  had  produced. 
First,  she  was  a  little  stunned  at  having  her  argu- 
ment blocked  over.  Secondly,  she  was  a  little 
shocked  at  the  tremendous  character    of    the    triple 

matrimonial  suggestion.     Thirdly. I  don't  like 

to  say  what  I  thought.  Something  seemed  to  have 
pleased  her  fancy.  Whether  it  was,  that,  if  trig- 
ainy  should  come  into  fashion,  there  would  be 
three  times  as  many  chances  to  enjoy  the  luxury 
of  saying,  "  No ! "  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I 
may  as  well  mention  that  B.  F.  came  to  me  after 
breakfast  to  borrow  the  pamphlet  for  "  a  lady,"  — 
one  of  the  boarders,  he  said,  —  looking  as  if  he  had 
aret  he  wished  to  be  relieved  of. 

1  continued.  —  If  a  human  soul  is  necessa- 
rily to  be  trained  up  in  the  faith  of  those  from 
whom  it  inherits  its  body,  why,  there  is  the_  end 
of  all  reason.  If,  sooner  or  later,  every  soul  is  to 
look  for  truth  with  its  own  eyes,  the  first  thing  is 
to  recognize  that  no  presumption  in  favor  of  any 
particular  belief  arises  from  the  fact  of  our  inher- 
iting it.  Otherwise  you  would  not  give  the  Ma- 
hometan a  fair  chance  to  become  a  convert  to  a 
better  religion. 

The  second  thing  would  be  to  depolarize  every 
fixed  religious  idea  in  the  mind  by  changing  the 
word  which  stands  for  it. 

I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  u  depolar- 
izing" an  idea,  —  said  the  divinity-student. 


8     THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

I  will  tell  you,  —  I  said.  —  When  a  given  symbol 
which  represents  a  thought  has  lain  for  a  certain 
length  of  time  in  the  mind,  it  undergoes  a  change 
like  that  which  rest  in  a  certain  position  gives  to 
iron.  It  becomes  magnetic  in  its  relations,  —  it  is 
traversed  by  strange  forces  which  did  not  belong 
to  it.  The  word,  and  consequently  the  idea  it 
represents,  is  polarized. 

The  religious  currency  of  mankind,  in  thought, 
in  speech,  and  in  print,  consists  entirely  of  polar- 
ized words.  Borrow  one  of  these  from  another 
language  and  religion,  and  you  will  find  it  leaves 
all  its  magnetism  behind  it.  Take  that  famous 
word,  O'm,  of  the  Hindoo  mythology.  Even  a 
priest  cannot  pronounce  it  without  sin  ;  and  a  holy 
Pundit  would  shut  his  ears  and  run  away  from 
you  in  horror,  if  you  should  say  it  aloud.  What 
do  you  care  for  O'm  ?  If  you  wanted  to  get  the 
Pundit  to  look  at  his  religion  fairly,  you  must 
first  depolarize  this  and  all  similar  words  for  him. 
The  argument  for  and  against  new  translations  of 
the  Bible  really  turns  on  this.  Skepticism  is  afraid 
to  trust  its  truths  in  depolarized  words,  and  so  cries 
out  against  a  new  translation.  I  think,  myself,  if 
every  idea  our  Book  contains  could  be  shelled  out 
of  its  old  symbol  and  put  into  a  new,  clean,  un- 
magnetic  word,  we  should  have  some  chance  of 
reading  it  as  philosophers,  or  wisdom-lovers,  ought 
to   read  it,  —  which   we   do   not   and   cannot  now, 


THE   TROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  9 

any  more  than  a  Hindoo  can  read  the  "  Gayatri " 
as  a  fair  man  and  lover  of  truth  should  do. 
When  society  has  once  fairly  dissolved  the  New 
Testament,  which  it  never  has  done  yet,  it  will 
perhaps  crystallize  it  over  again  in  new  forms  of 
language. 

1  didn't   know  you  was    a    settled   minister 

over   this  parish,  —  said  the  young  fellow  near  me. 

A  sermon  by  a  lay-preacher  may  be  worth  lis- 
tening to,  —  I  replied,  calmly.  —  It  gives  the  parallax 
of  thought  and  feeling  as  they  appear  to  the  ob- 
servers from  two  very  different  points  of  view.  If 
you  wish  to  get  the  distance  of  a  heavenly  body, 
you  know  that  you  must  take  two  observations 
from  remote  points  of  the  earth's  orbit,  —  in  mid- 
summer and  midwinter,  for  instance.  To  get  the 
parallax  of  heavenly  truths,  you  must  take  an  ob- 
servation from  the  position  of  the  laity  as  well  as 
of  the  clergy.  Teachers  and  students  of  theology 
get  a  certain  look,  certain  conventional  tones  of 
voice,  a  clerical  gait,  a  professional  neckcloth,  and 
habits  of  mind  as  professional  as  their  externals. 
They  are  scholarly  men  and  read  Bacon,  and 
know  well  enough  what  the  "  idols  of  the  tribe  " 
are.  Of  course  they  have  their  false  gods,  as  all 
men  that  follow  one  exclusive  calling  are  prone 
to  do.  —  The  clergy  have  played  the  part  of  the 
fly-wheel   in    our    modern   civilization.     They   have 

never    suffered   it   to    stop.     They    have    often    car- 

1* 


10    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

ried  on  its  movement,  when  other  moving  powers 
failed,  by  the  momentum  stored  in  their  vast  body. 
Sometimes,  too,  they  have  kept  it  back  by  their 
vis  inertice,  when  its  wheels  were  like  to  grind 
the  bones  of  some  old  canonized  error  into  ferti- 
lizers for  the  soil  that  yields  the  bread  of  life. 
But  the  mainspring  of  the  world's  onward  relig- 
ious movement  is  not  in  them,  nor  in  any  one 
body  of  men,  let  me  tell  you.  It  is  the  people 
that  makes  the  clergy,  and  not  the  clergy  that 
makes  the  people.  Of  course,  the  profession  reacts 
on  its  source  with  variable  energy.  —  But  there 
never  was  a  guild  of  dealers  or  a  company  of 
craftsmen  that  did  not  need  sharp  looking  after. 

Our  old  friend,  Dr.  Holyoke,  whom  we  gave 
the  dinner  to  some  time  since,  must  have  known 
many  people  that  saw  the  great  bonfire  in  Har- 
vard  College  yard. 

Bonfire?  —  shrieked    the    little    man.  —  The 

bonfire  when  Robert  Calef's  book  was  burned? 

The  same,  —  I  said,  —  when  Robert  Calef  the  Bos- 
ton merchant's  book  was  burned  in  the  yard  of 
Harvard  College,  by  order  of  Increase  Mather, 
President  of  the  College  and  Minister  of  the  Gos- 
pel. You  remember  the  old  witchcraft  revival  of 
'92,  and  how  stout  Master  Robert  Calef,  trader, 
of  Boston,  had  the  pluck  to  tell  the  ministers  and 
judges  what  a  set  of  fools  and  worse  than  fools 
they  were 


THE   PBOFESSOB  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABIX         11 

Remember  it  ?  —  said  the  little  man. —  I  don't  think 
I  Bhall  forget  it,  as  long  as  I  can  stretch  this  lore- 
linger  to  point  with,  and  see  what  it  wears. — 
There  was  a  ring  on  it. 

May  I  look  at  it? — I  said. 

Where  it  is,  —  said  the  little  man;  —  it  will  never 
come  oil",  till  it  falls  oil"  from  the  bone  in  the  dark- 
ness and  in  the  dust. 

He  pushed  the  high  chair  on  which  he  sat 
slightly  back  from  the  table,  and  dropped  him  sell", 
standing,  to  the  floor,  —  his  head  being  only  a  little 
above  the  level  of  the  table,  as  he  stood.  With 
pain  and  labor,  lifting  one  foot  over  the  other,  as 
a  drummer  handles  his  sticks,  he  took  a  few  steps 
from  his  place,  —  his  motions  and  the  dead  beat 
of  the  misshapen  boots  announcing  to  my  prac- 
tised eye  and  ear  the  malformation  which  is  called 
in  learned  language  talipes  varus,  or  inverted  club- 
foot. 

Stop!  stop!  —  I  said, — let  me  come  to  you. 

The  little  man  hobbled  back,  and  lifted  himself 
by  the  left  arm,  with  an  ease  approaching  to  grace 
which  surprised  me,  into  his  high  chair.  I  walked 
to  his  side,  and  he  stretched  out  the  forefinger  of 
his  right  hand,  with  the  ring  upon  it.  The  ring 
had  been  put  on  long  ago,  and  could  not  p 
the  misshapen  joint.  It  was  one  of  those  funeral 
rings  which  used  to  be  given  to  relatives  and 
friends    after   the    decease    of   persons    of   any  note 


12         THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

or  importance.  Beneath  a  round  bit  of  glass  was 
a  death's  head.  Engraved  on  one  side  of  this, 
"L.  B.  JEt.  22,"  — on  the  other,  "Ob.  1692." 

My  grandmother's  grandmother,  —  said  the  little 
man.  —  Hanged  for  a  witch.  It  doesn't  seem  a 
great  while  ago.  I  knew  my  grandmother,  and 
loved  her.  Her  mother  was  daughter  to  the  witch 
that  Chief  Justice  Sewall  hanged  and  Cotton 
Mather  delivered  over  to  the  Devil. —  That  was 
Salem,  though,  and  not  Boston.  No,  not  Boston. 
Robert  Calef,  the  Boston  merchant,  it  was  that 
blew  them  all  to 

Never  mind  where  he  blew  them  to,  —  I  said;  — 
for  the  little  man  was  getting  red  in  the  face,  and 
I  didn't  know  what  might  come  next. 

This  episode  broke  me  up,  as  the  jockeys  say, 
out  of  my  square  conversational  trot ;  but  I  set- 
tled down  to  it  again. 

A  man   that   knows   men,  in   the    street,  at 

their  work,  human  nature  in  its  shirt-sleeves, — who 
makes  bargains  with  deacons,  instead  of  talking 
over  texts  with  them,  —  a  man  who  has  found  out 
that  there  are  plenty  of  praying  rogues  and  swear- 
ing saints  in  the  world,  —  above  all,  who  has  found 
out,  by  living  into  the  pith  and  core  of  life,  that 
all  of  the  Deity  which  can  be  folded  up  between 
the  sheets  of  any  human  book  is  to  the  Deity  of 
the  firmament,  of  the  strata,  of  the  hot  aortic  flood 
of  throbbing  human  life,  of  this  infinite,  instanta- 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  13 

neous  consciousness  in  which  the  soul's  being  con- 
sists,—  an  incandescent  point  in  the  filament  con- 
necting the  negative  pole  of  a  past  eternity  with 
the  positive  pole  of  an  eternity  that  is  to  come, — 
that  all  of  the  Deity  which  any  human  book  can 
hold  is  to  this  larger  Deity  of  the  working  battery 
of  the  universe  only  as  the  films  in  a  book  of 
gold-leaf  are  to  the  broad  seams  and  curdled  lumps 
of  ore  that  lie  in  unsunned  mines  and  virgin  pla- 
cers,   Oh!  —  I  was  saying  that   a   man   who 

lives  out-of-doors,  among  live  people,  gets  some 
things  into  his  head  he  might  not  find  in  the 
index  of  his  "  Body  of  Divinity." 

I  tell  you  what,  —  the  idea  of  the  professions' 
digging  a  moat  round  their  close  corporations,  like 
that  Japanese  one  at  Jeddo,  which  you  could  put 
Park-Street  Church  on  the  bottom  of  and  look 
over  the  vane  from  its  side,  and  try  to  stretch 
another  such  spire  across  it  without  spanning  the 
chasm, — that  idea,  I  say,  is  pretty  nearly  worn 
out.  Now  when  a  civilization  or  a  civilized  cus- 
tom falls  into  senile  dementia,  there  is  commonly 
a  judgment  ripe  for  it,  and  it  comes  as  plagues 
come,  from  a  breath,  —  as  fires  come,  from  a  spark. 

Here,  look  at  medicine.  Big  wigs,  gold-headed 
canes,  Latin  prescriptions,  shops  full  of  abomina- 
tions, recipes  a  yard  long,  "  curing "  patients  by 
drugging  as  sailors  bring  a  wind  by  whistling, 
selling  lies  at  a  guinea  apiece,  —  a  routine,  in  short, 


14    THE  PKOFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

of  giving  unfortunate  sick  people  a  mess  of  things 
either  too  odious  to  swallow  or  too  acrid  to  hold, 
or,  if  that  were  possible,  both  at  once. 

You   don't   know   what   I    mean,   indignant 

and  not  unintelligent  country-practitioner?  Then 
you  don't  know  the  history  of  medicine,  —  and  that 
is  not  my  fault.  But  don't  expose  yourself  in  any 
outbreak  of  eloquence ;  for,  by  the  mortar  in  which 
Anaxarchus  was  pounded !  I  did  not  bring  home 
Schenckius  and  Forestus  and  Hildanus,  and  all 
the  old  folios  in  calf  and  vellum  I  will  show  you, 
to  be  bullied  by  the  proprietor  of  a  "  Wood  and 
Bache,"  and  a  shelf  of  peppered  sheepskin  reprints 
by  Philadelphia  Editors.  Besides,  many  of  the 
profession  and  I  know  a  little  something  of  each 
other,  and  you  don't  think  I  am  such  a  simpleton 
as  to  lose  their  good  opinion  by  saying  what  the 
better  heads  among  them  would  condemn  as  unfair 
and  untrue  ?  Now  mark  how  the  great  plague 
came  on  the  generation  of  drugging  doctors,  and 
in  what  form  it  fell. 

A  scheming  drug-vendor,  (inventive  genius,)  an 
utterly  untrustworthy  and  incompetent  observer, 
(profound  searcher  of  Nature,)  a  shallow  dabbler 
in  erudition,  (sagacious  scholar,)  started  the  mon- 
strous fiction  (founded  the  immortal  system)  of 
Homoeopathy.  I  am  very  fair,  you  see,  —  you  can 
help  yourself  to  either  of  these  sets  of  phrases. 

All  the  reason  in  the  world  would  not  have  had 


Till:   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   RBRAKI  AS T-  [  ABIX  16 

so  rapid  and  general  an  effect  on  the  public  mind 
to  disabuse  it  of  the  idea  that  a  drug  is  a  good 
thing   in   itself,  instead   of  being,    as   it   is,    a   bad 

tiling,  as  was  produced  by  the  trick  (system)  of 
this  German  charlatan  (theorist).  Not  that  the 
wiser  part  of  the  profession  needed  him  to  teach 
them ;  but  the  routinists  and  their  employers,  the 
"  general  practitioners/'  who  lived  by  selling  pills 
and  mixtures,  and  their  drug-consuming  customers, 
had  to  recognize  that  people  could  get  well,  un- 
poisoned.  These  dumb  cattle  would  not  learn  it 
of  themselves,  and  so  the  murrain  of  Homoeopathy 
fell  on  them. 

You  don't  know  what  plague  has  fallen  on 

the  practitioners  of  theology  ?  I  will  tell  you,  then. 
It  is  spiritualism.  While  some  are  crying  out 
against  it  as  a  delusion  of  the  Devil,  and  some 
are  laughing  at  it  as  an  hysteric  folly,  and  some 
are  getting  angry  with  it  as  a  mere  trick  of  inter- 
ested or  mischievous  persons,  Spiritualism  is  quietly 
undermining  the  traditional  ideas  of  the  future 
state  which  have  been  and  are  still  accepted, — 
not  merely  in  those  who  believe  in  it,  but  in  the 
general  sentiment  of  the  community,  to  a  larger 
nt  than  most  good  people  seem  to  be  aware  of. 
It  needn't  be  true,  to  do  this,  any  more  than  Ho- 
moeopathy need,  to  do  its  work.  The  Spiritualists 
have  some  pretty  strong  instincts  to  pry  over,  which 
no    doubt    have    been    roughly    handled    by    theolo- 


16    THE  PKOFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

gians  at  different  times.  And  the  Nemesis  of  the 
pulpit  comes,  in  a  shape  it  little  thought  of,  be- 
ginning with  the  snap  of  a  toe-joint,  and  ending 
with  such  a  crack  of  old  beliefs  that  the  roar  of 
it  is  heard  in  all  the  ministers'  studies  of  Chris- 
tendom! Sir,  you  cannot  have  people  of  cultiva- 
tion, of  pure  character,  sensible  enough  in  common 
things,  large-hearted  women,  grave  judges,  shrewd 
business-men,  men  of  science,  professing  to  be  in 
communication  with  the  spiritual  world  and  keep- 
ing up  constant  intercourse  with  it,  without  its 
gradually  reacting  on  the  whole  conception  of  that 
other  life.  It  is  the  folly  of  the  world,  constantly, 
which  confounds  its  wisdom.  Not  only  out  of  the 
mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings,  but  out  of  the 
mouths  of  fools  and  cheats,  we  may  often  get  our 
truest  lessons.  For  the  fool's  judgment  is  a  dog- 
vane  that  turns  with  a  breath,  and  the  cheat 
watches  the  clouds  and  sets  his  weathercock  by 
them,  —  so  that  one  shall  often  see  by  their  point- 
ing which  way  the  winds  of  heaven  are  blowing, 
when  the  slow-wheeling  arrows  and  feathers  of 
what  we  call  the  Temples  of  Wisdom  are  turning 
to  all  points  of  the  compass. 

Amen !  —  said  the  young  fellow  called  John. 

—  Ten  minutes  by  the  watch.  Those  that  are 
unanimous  will  please  to  signify  by  holding  up 
their  left  foot! 

I   looked   this    young   man    steadily  in    the    face 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.          17 

for  about  thirty  seconds.  His  countenance  was  as 
calm  as  that  of  a  reposing  infant.  I  think  it  was 
simplicity,  rather  than  mischief,  with  perhaps  a 
youthful  playfulness,  that  led  him  to  this  outbreak. 
I  have  often  noticed  that  even  quiet  horses,  on  a 
sharp  November  morning,  when  their  coats  are 
just  beginning  to  get  the  winter  roughness,  will 
give  little  sportive  demi-kicks,  with  slight  sudden 
elevation  of  the  subsequent  region  of  the  body, 
and  a  sharp  short  whinny,  —  by  no  means  intend- 
ing to  put  their  heels  through  the  dasher,  or  to 
address  the  driver  rudely,  but  feeling,  to  use  a 
familiar  word,  frisky.  This,  I  think,  is  the  physi- 
ological condition  of  the  young  person,  John.  I 
noticed,  however,  what  I  should  call  a  palpebral 
spasm,  affecting  the  eyelid  and  muscles  of  one  side, 
which,  if  it  were  intended  for  the  facial  gesture 
called  a  wink,  might  lead  me  to  suspect  a  dispo- 
sition to  be  satirical  on  his  part. 

Resuming  the  conversation,  I  remarked, —  I 

am,  ex  officio,  as  a  Professor,  a  conservative.  For 
I  don't  know  any  fruit  that  clings  to  its  tree  so 
faithfully,  not  even  a  "  froze-'n'-thaw  "  winter-apple, 
as  a  Professor  to  the  bough  of  which  his  chair  is 
made.  You  can't  shake  him  off,  and  it  is  as  much 
as  you  can  do  to  pull  him  off.  Hence,  by  a  chain 
of  induction  I  need  not  unwind,  he  tends  to  con- 
servatism generally. 

But    then,    you   know,    if    you    are    sailing    the 


18    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Atlantic,  and  all  at  once  find  yourself  in  a  current, 
and  the  sea  covered  with  weeds,  and  drop  your 
Fahrenheit  over  the  side  and  find  it  eight  or  ten 
degrees  higher  than  in  the  ocean  generally,  there 
is  no  use  in  flying  in  the  face  of  facts  and  swear- 
ing there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Gulf- Stream,  when 
you  are  in  it. 

You  can't  keep  gas  in  a  bladder,  and  you  can't 
keep  knowledge  tight  in  a  profession.  Hydrogen 
will  leak  out,  and  air  will  leak  in,  through  India- 
rubber  ;  and  special  knowledge  will  leak  out,  and 
general  knowledge  will  leak  in,  though  a  profes- 
sion were  covered  with  twenty  thicknesses  of 
sheepskin  diplomas.  By  Jove,  Sir,  till  common 
sense  is  well  mixed  up  with  medicine,  and  com- 
mon manhood  with  theology,  and  common  honesty 
with  law,  We  the  people,  Sir,  some  of  us  with 
nut-crackers,  and  some  of  us  with  trip-hammers, 
and  some  of  us  with  pile-drivers,  and  some  of  us 
coming  with  a  whish !  like  air-stones  out  of  a  lunar 
volcano,  will  crash  down  on  the  lumps  of  nonsense 
in  all  of  them  till  we  have  made  powder  of  them 
like  Aaron's  calf! 

If  to  be  a  conservative  is  to  let  all  the  drains 
of  thought  choke  up  and  keep  all  the  soul's  win- 
dows down, — to  shut  out  the  sun  from  the  east 
and  the  wind  from  the  west,  —  to  let  the  rats  run 
free  in  the  cellar,  and  the  moths  feed  their  fill  in  the 
chambers,  and   the   spiders  weave  their  lace  before 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         19 

the  mirrors,  till  the  soul's  typhus  is  bred  out  of 
our  neglect,  and  we  begin  to  snore  in  its  coma  or 
rave  in  its  delirium, —  I,  Sir,  am  a  bonnet-rouge,  a. 
red-cap  of  the  barricades,  my  friends,  rather  than 
a  conservative. 

Were  you  born  in    Boston,  Sir?  —  said   the 

little  man, — looking  eager  and  excited. 

I  was  not,  —  I  replied. 

It's  a  pity,  —  it's  a  pity,  —  said  the  little  man;  — 
it's  the  place  to  be  born  in.  But  if  you  can't  fix 
it  so  as  to  be  born  here,  you  can  come  and  live 
here.  Old  Ben  Franklin,  the  father  of  American 
science  and  the  American  Union,  wasn't  ashamed 
to  be  born  here.  Jim  Otis,  the  father  of  American 
Independence,  bothered  about  in  the  Cape  Cod 
marshes  awhile,  but  he  came  to  Boston  as  soon 
as  he  got  big  enough.  Joe  Warren,  the  first 
bloody  ruffled-shirt  of  the  Revolution,  was  as  good 
as  born  here.  Parson  Channing  strolled  along  this 
way  from  Newport,  and  staid  here.  Pity  old  Sam 
Hopkins  hadn't  come,  too  ;  —  we'd  have  made  a 
man  of  him,  —  poor,  dear,  good  old  Christian  hea- 
then !  There  he  lies,  as  peaceful  as  a  young  baby, 
in  the  old  burying-ground !  I've  stood  on  the  slab 
many  a  time.  Meant  well,  —  meant  well.  Jugger- 
naut. Parson  Channing  put  a  little  oil  on  one 
linchpin,  and  slipped  it  out  so  softly,  the  first 
tiling  they  knew  about  it  was  the  wheel  of  that 
'side   was   down.       T'other   fellow's   at   work   now; 


20    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

but  he  makes  more  noise  about  it.  "When  the 
linchpin  comes  out  on  his  side,  there'll  be  a  jerk, 
I  tell  you!  Some  think  it  will  spoil  the  old  cart, 
and  they  pretend  to  say  that  there  are  valuable 
things  in  it  which  may  get  hurt.  Hope  not, — 
hope  not.  But  this  is  the  great  Macadamizing 
place,  —  always  cracking  up  something. 

Cracking  up  Boston  folks,  —  said  the  gentleman 
with  the  diamond-pin,  whom,  for  convenience'  sake, 
I  shall  hereafter  call  the  Koh-i-noor. 

The  little  man  turned  round  mechanically  tow- 
ards him,  as  Maelzel's  Turk  used  to  turn,  carrying 
his  head  slowly  and  horizontally,  as  if  it  went  by 
cog-wheels. —  Cracking  up  all  sorts  of  things, — 
native  and  foreign  vermin  included,  —  said  the  lit- 
tle man. 

This  remark  was  thought  by  some  of  us  to  have 
a  hidden  personal  application,  and  to  afford  a  fair 
opening  for  a  lively  rejoinder,  if  the  Koh-i-noor 
had  been  so  disposed.  The  little  man  uttered  it 
with  the  distinct  wooden  calmness  with  which  the 
ingenious  Turk  used  to  exclaim,  E-chec !  so  that 
it  must  have  been  heard.  The  party  supposed  to 
be  interested  in  the  remark  was,  however,  carrying 
a  large  knife-blade-full  of  something  to  his  mouth 
just  then,  which,  no  doubt,  interfered  with  the 
reply  he  would  have  made. 

My   friend    who    used    to    board    here    was 

accustomed  sometimes,  in  a   pleasant  way,  to   call* 


THE  PROFESSOB  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.        21 

himself  the  Autocrat  of  the  table,  —  meaning,  I  sup- 
pose, that  he  had  it   all   his   own  way  among   the 
boarders.     I   think    our    small   boarder   here    is  like 
to  prove  a  refractory  subject,  if  I  undertake  to  use 
the  sceptre  my  friend  meant  to  bequeathe  me,  too 
magisterially.       I   won't   deny   that   sometimes,   on 
rare  occasions,  when  I  have  been  in  company  with 
gentlemen   who   preferred    listening,    I    have    been 
guilty  of  the  same   kind    of  usurpation  which    my 
friend  openly  justified.     But  I  maintain,  that  I,  the 
Professor,  am  a  good  listener.     If  a   man   can   tell 
me    a   fact   which   subtends    an    appreciable    angle 
in  the    horizon    of  thought,  I    am    as   receptive    as 
the    contribution-box    in    a    congregation  of  colored 
brethren.     If,  when  I  am  exposing  my  intellectual 
dry-goods,  a  man  will    begin    a    good    story,  I  will 
have   them    all   in,  and   my  shutters   up,  before   he 
has   got   to   the   fifth   "  says   he,"  and  listen  like  a 
three-years'  child,  as  the  author  of  the  "  Old  Sailor  " 
I  had  rather    hear   one    of  those    grand   ele- 
mental   laughs    from    either    of  our   two    Georges, 
(fictitious  names,  Sir  or  Madam,)  or  listen  to    one 
of  those  old  playbills  of  our  College  days,  in  which 
"  Tom  and  Jerry  "  ("  Thomas  and  Jeremiah,"  as  the 
old  Greek  Professor  was  said  to   call   it,)  was    an- 
nounced to  be  brought  on  the  stage  with  the  whole 
force    of  the    Faculty,   read    by  our    Frederick,  (no 
such  person,  of  course,)    than    say  the   best   things 
I   might   by   any   chance    find    myself    capable    of 


22         THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

saying.  Of  course,  if  I  come  across  a  real  thinker, 
a  suggestive,  acute,  illuminating,  informing  talker, 
I  enjoy  the  luxury  of  sitting  still  for  a  while  as 
much  as  another. 

Nobody  talks  much  that  doesn't  say  unwise 
things, — things  he  did  not  mean  to  say;  as  no 
person  plays  much  without  striking  a  false  note 
sometimes.  Talk,  to  me,  is  only  spading  up  the 
ground  for  crops  of  thought.  I  can't  answer  for 
what  will  turn  up.  If  I  could,  it  wouldn't  be 
talking,  but  "  speaking  my  piece."  Better,  I  think, 
the  hearty  abandonment  of  one's  self  to  the  sug- 
gestions of  the  moment,  at  the  risk  of  an  occa- 
sional slip  of  the  tongue,  perceived  the  instant 
it  escapes,  but  just  one  syllable  too  late,  than 
the  royal  reputation  of  never  saying  a  foolish 
thing. 

What   shall    I   do  with   this   little   man  ?  — 


There  is  only  one  thing  to  do,  —  and  that  is,  to 
let  him  talk  when  he  will.  The  day  of  the  "  Au- 
tocrat's "  monologues  is  over. 

My    friend, — said    I    to    the    young    fellow 

whom,  as  I  have  said,  the  boarders  call  "  John," 
—  My  friend,  —  I  said,  one  morning,  after  break- 
fast,—  can  you  give  me  any  information  respecting 
the  deformed  person  who  sits  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table? 

What !  the  Sculpin  ?  —  said  the  young  fellow. 

The   diminutive   person,  with   angular   curvature 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         23 

of  the  spine, —  I  said,  —  and  double  talipes  varus, 
—  I  beg  your  pardon,  —  with  two  club-feet. 

Is  that  long  word  what  you  call  it  when  a 
fellah  walks  so  ?  —  said  the  young  man,  making 
his  fists  revolve  round  an  imaginary  axis,  as  you 
may  have  seen  youth  of  tender  age  and  limited 
pugilistic  knowledge,  when  they  show  how  they 
would  punish  an  adversary,  themselves  protected 
by  this  rotating  guard, — the  middle  knuckle,  mean- 
time, thumb-supported,  fiercely  prominent,  death- 
threatening. 

It  is,  —  said  I.  —  But  would  you  have  the  kind- 
ness to  tell  me  if  you  know  anything  about  this 
deformed  person  ? 

About  the  Sculpin  ?  —  said  the  young  fellow. 

My  good  friend,  —  said  I,  —  I  am  sure,  by  your 
countenance,  you  would  not  hurt  the  feelings  of 
one  who  has  been  hardly  enough  treated  by  Na- 
ture to  be  spared  by  his  fellows.  Even  in  speak- 
ing of  him  to  others,  I  could  wish  that  you  might 
not  employ  a  term  which  implies  contempt  for 
what  should  inspire  only  pity. 

A  fellah's   no   business   to   be    so crooked, — 

said  the  young  man  called  John. 

Yes,  yes, —  I  said,  thoughtfully,  —  the  strong  hate 
the  weak.  It's  all  right.  The  arrangement  has 
reference  to  the  race,  and  not  to  the  individual. 
Infirmity  must  be  kicked  out,  or  the  stock  run 
down.     Wholesale  moral  arrangements  are   so   dif- 


24    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

ferent  from  retail!  —  I  understand  the  instinct,  my 
friend, — it  is  cosmic,  —  it  is  planetary,  —  it  is  a 
conservative  principle  in  creation. 

The  young  fellow's  face  gradually  lost  its  ex- 
pression as  I  was  speaking,  until  it  became  as 
blank  of  vivid  significance  as  the  countenance  of 
a  gingerbread  rabbit  with  two  currants  in  the  place 
of  eyes.     He  had  not  taken  my  meaning. 

Presently  the  intelligence  came  back  with  a  snap 
that  made  him  wink,  as  he  answered, — Jest.  so. 
All  right.  A  1.  Put  her  through.  That's  the  way 
to  talk.  Did  you  speak  to  me,  Sir?  —  Here  the 
young  man  struck  up  that  well-known  song  which 
I  think  they  used  to  sing  at  Masonic  festivals, 
beginning,  "  Aldiborontiphoscophornio,  Where  left 
you  Chrononhotonthologos  ?  " 

I  beg  your  pardon,  —  I  said;  —  all  I  meant  was, 
that  men,  as  temporary  occupants  of  a  permanent 
abode  called  human  life,  which  is  improved  or  in- 
jured by  occupancy,  according  to  the  style  of  ten- 
ant, have  a  natural  dislike  to  those  who,  if  they 
live  the  life  of  the  race  as  well  as  of  the  individ- 
ual, will  leave  lasting  injurious  effects  upon  the 
abode  spoken  of,  which  is  to  be  occupied  by  count- 
less future  generations.  This  is  the  final  cause  of 
the  underlying  brute  instinct  which  we  have  in 
common  with  the  herds. 

The  gingerbread-rabbit  expression  was  com- 
ing  on   so   fast,  that    I   thought  I  must  try  again. 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         25 

—  It's  a  pity  that  families  are  kept  up,  where  there 
are  such  hereditary  infirmities.  Still,  let  us  treat 
this  poor  man  fairly,  and  not  call  him  names.  Do 
you  know  what  his  name  is  ? 

I  know  what  the  rest  of  'em  call  him,  —  said 
the  young  fellow. —  They  call  him  Little  Boston. 
There's  no  harm  in  that,  is  there  ? 

It  is  an  honorable  term,  —  I  replied.  —  But  why 
Little  Boston,  in  a  place  where  most  are  Bostonians  ? 

Because  nobody  else  is  quite  so  Boston  all  over 
as  he  is,  —  said  the  young  fellow. 

"L.  B.  Ob.  1692."  — Little  Boston  let  him  be, 
when  we  talk  about  him.  The  ring  he  wears 
labels  him  well  enough.  There  is  stuff  in  the 
little  man,  or  he  wouldn't  stick  so  manfully  by 
this  crooked,  crotchety  old  town.  Give  him  a 
chance.  —  You  will  drop  the    Sculpin,  won't   you  ? 

—  I  said  to  the  young  fellow. 

Drop  him?  —  he  answered,  —  I  ha'n't  took  him 
up  yet. 

No,  no,  —  the  term,  —  I  said,  —  the  term.  Don't 
call  him  so  any  more,  if  you  please.  Call  him 
Little  Boston,  if  you  like. 

All  right,  —  said  the  young  fellow.  —  I  wouldn't 
be  hard  on  the  poor  little 

The  word  he  used  was  objectionable  in  point 
of  significance  and  of  grammar.  It  was  a  frequent 
termination  of  certain  adjectives  among  the  Ro- 
mans,—  as  of  those    designating    a    person    follow- 


26         THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

ing  the  sea,  or  given  to  rural  pursuits.  It  is  classed 
by  custom  among  the  profane  words ;  why,  it  is 
hard  to  say,  —  but  it  is  largely  used  in  the  street 
by  those  who  speak  of  their  fellows  in  pity  or  in 
wrath. 

I  never  heard  the  young  fellow  apply  the  name 
of  the  odious  pretended  fish  to  the  little  man  from 
that  day  forward. 

Here  we   are,   then,  at   our   boarding-house. 

First,  myself,  the  Professor,  a  little  way  from  the 
head  of  the  table,  on  the  right,  looking  down, 
where  the  "  Autocrat "  used  to  sit.  At  the  further 
end  sits  the  Landlady.  At  the  head  of  the  table, 
just  now,  the  Koh-i-noor,  or  the  gentleman  with 
the  diamond.  Opposite  me  is  a  Venerable  Gen- 
tleman with  a  bland  countenance,  who  as  yet  has 
spoken  little.  The  Divinity- Student  is  my  neigh- 
bor on  the  right,  —  and  further  down,  that  Young 
Fellow  of  whom  I  have  repeatedly  spoken.  The 
Landlady's  Daughter  sits  near  the  Koh-i-noor,  as 
I  said.  The  Poor  Relation  near  the  Landlady. 
At  the  right  upper  corner  is  a  fresh-looking  youth 
of  whose  name  and  history  I  have  as  yet  learned 
nothing.  Next  the  further  left-hand  corner,  near 
the  lower  end  of  the  table,  sits  the  deformed  per- 
son. The  chair  at  his  side,  occupying  that  corner, 
is  empty.  I  need  not  specially  mention  the  other 
boarders,  with  the  exception  of  Benjamin  Franklin, 
the  landlady's  son,  who  sits  near  his  mother.     We 


J  Hi:    PROFESSOB  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         27 

are  a  tolerably  assorted  set,  —  difference  enough  and 
likeness  enough ;  but  still  it  seems  to  me  there 
is  something  wanting.  The  Landlady's  Daughter 
is  the  prima  donna  in  the  way  of  feminine  attrac- 
tions. I  am  not  quite  satisfied  with  this  young 
lady.  She  wears  more  "  jewelry,''  as  certain  young 
ladies  call  their  trinkets,  than  I  care  to  see  on  a 
person  in  her  position.  Her  voice  is  strident,  her 
laugh  too  much  like  a  giggle,  and  she  has  that 
foolish  way  of  dancing  and  bobbing  like  a  quill- 
fioat  with  a  "  minnum  "  biting  the  hook  below  it, 
which  one  sees  and  weeps  over  sometimes  in  per- 
sons of  more  pretensions.  I  can't  help  hoping  we 
shall  put  something  into  that  empty  chair  yet 
which  will  add  the  missing  string  to  our  social 
harp.  I  hear  talk  of  a  rare  Miss  who  is  expected. 
Something  in  the  school-girl  way,  I  believe.  We 
shall  see. 

My  friend   who    calls   himself  The  Autocrat 


has  given  me  a  caution  which  I  am  going  to 
repeat,  with  my  comment  upon  it,  for  the  benefit 
of  all  concerned. 

Professor,  —  said  he,  one  day,  —  don't  you  think 
your  brain  will  run  dry  before  a  year's  out,  if  you 
don't  get  the  pump  to  help  the  cow  ?  Let  me 
tell  you  what  happened  to  me  once.  I  put  a  little 
money  into  a  bank,  and  bought  a  check-book,  so 
that  I  might  draw  it  as  I  wanted,  in  sums  to  suit. 


28         THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Things  went  on  nicely  for  a  time ;  scratching  with 
a  pen  was  as  easy  as  rubbing  Aladdin's  Lamp ; 
and  my  blank  check-book  seemed  to  be  a  diction- 
ary of  possibilities,  in  which  I  could  find  all  the 
synonymes  of  happiness,  and  realize  any  one  of 
them  on  the  spot.  A  check  came  back  to  me  at 
last  with  these  two  words  on  it,  —  No  funds.  My 
check-book  was  a  volume  of  waste-paper. 

Now,  Professor,  —  said  he,  —  I  have  drawn  some- 
thing out  of  your  bank,  you  know ;  and  just  so 
sure  as  you  keep  drawing  out  your  soul's  currency 
without  making  new  deposits,  the  next  thing  will 
be,  No  funds,  —  and  then  where  will  you  be,  my 
boy  ?  These  little  bits  of  paper  mean  your  gold 
and  your  silver  and  your  copper,  Professor ;  and 
you  will  certainly  break  up  and  go  to  pieces,  if 
you  don't  hold  on  to  your  metallic  basis. 

There  is  something  in  that,  —  said  I.  —  Only  I 
rather  think  life  can  coin  thought  somewhat  faster 
than  I  can  count  it  off  in  words.  What  if  one 
shall  go  round  and  dry  up  with  soft  napkins  all 
the  dew  that  falls  of  a  June  evening  on  the  leaves 
of  his  garden?  Shall  there  be  no  more  dew  on 
those  leaves  thereafter  ?  Marry,  yea,  —  many  drops, 
large  and  round  and  full  of  moonlight  as  those 
thou  shalt  have  absterged ! 

Here  am  I,  the  Professor,  —  a  man  who  has 
lived  long  enough  to  have  plucked  the  flowers  of 
life    and    come    to    the    berries,  —  which    are    not 


THE   PROFESSOB   AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         20 

always  sad-colored,  but  sometimes  golden-hued  as 
the  crocus  of  April,  or  rosy-cheeked  as  the  damask 
of  June  ;  a  man  who  staggered  against  books  as 
a  baby,  and  will  totter  against  them,  if  he  lives 
to  decrepitude ;  with  a  brain  as  full  of  tingling 
thoughts,  such  as  they  are,  as  a  limb  which  we 
call  "  asleep,"  because  it  is  so  particularly  awake, 
is  of  pricking  points ;  presenting  a  key-board  of 
nerve-pulps,  not  as  yet  tanned  or  ossified,  to  the 
finger-touch  of  all  outward  agencies ;  knowing  some- 
thing of  the  filmy  threads  of  this  web  of  life  in 
which  we  insects  buzz  awhile,  waiting  for  the  gray 
old  spider  to  come  along;  contented  enough  with 
daily  realities,  but  twirling  on  his  finger  the  key 
of  a  private  Bedlam  of  ideals ;  in  knowledge  feed- 
ing with  the  fox  oftener  than  with  the  stork, — 
loving  better  the  breadth  of  a  fertilizing  inundation 
than  the  depth  of  a  narrow  artesian  well ;  finding 
nothing  too  small  for  his  contemplation  in  the 
markings  of  the  grammatophora  subtilissi?no,  and 
nothing  too  large  in  the  movement  of  the  solar 
bera  towards  the  star  Lambda  of  the  constella- 
tion Hercules;  —  and  the  question  is,  whether  there 
is  anything  left  for  me,  the  Professor,  to  suck  out 
of  creation,  after  my  lively  friend  has  had  his  straw 
in  the  bunghole  of  the   Universe  ! 

A  man's  mental  reactions  with  the  atmosphere 
of  life  must  go  on,  whether  he  will  or  no,  as 
between  his  blood  and  the  air  he  breathes.     As  to 


30    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


catching  the  residuum  of  the  process,  or  what  we 
call  thought, — the  gaseous  ashes  of  burned-out 
thinking, — the  excretion  of  mental  respiration, — 
that  will  depend  on  many  things,  as,  on  having  a 
favorable  intellectual  temperature  about  one,  and 
a  fitting  receptacle. —  I  sow  more  thought-seeds  in 
twenty-four  hours'  travel  over  the  desert-sand  along 
which  my  lonely  consciousness  paces  day  and  night, 
than  I  shall  throw  into  soil  where  it  will  germi- 
nate, in  a  year.  All  sorts  of  bodily  and  mental 
perturbations  come  between  us  and  the  due  pro- 
jection of  our  thought.  The  pulse-like  "fits  of 
easy  and  difficult  transmission  "  seem  to  reach  even 
the  transparent  medium  through  which  our  souls  are 
seen.  We  know  our  humanity  by  its  often  inter- 
cepted rays,  as  we  tell  a  revolving  light  from  a  star 
or  meteor  by  its  constantly  recurring  obscuration. 

An  illustrious  scholar  once  told  me,  that,  in  the 
first  lecture  he  ever  delivered,  he  spoke  but  half 
his  allotted  time,  and  felt  as  if  he  had  told  all 
he  knew.  Braham  came  forward  once  to  sing 
one  of  his  most  famous  and  familiar  songs,  and 
for  his  life  could  not  recall  the  first  line  of  it;  — 
he  told  his  mishap  to  the  audience,  and  they 
screamed  it  at  him  in  a  chorus  of  a  thousand 
voices.  Milton  could  not  write  to  suit  himself, 
except  from  the  autumnal  to  the  vernal  equinox. 
One  in  the  clothing-business,  who,  there  is  reason 
to   suspect,   may   have    inherited,    by    descent,    the 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         31 

great  poet's  impressible  temperament,  let  a  cus- 
tomer slip  through  his  fingers  one  day  without 
fitting  him  with  a  new  garment.  "  Ah  !  "  said  he 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  who  was  standing  by,  "  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  that  confounded  headache  of  mine 
this  morning,  I'd  have  had  a  coat  on  that  man,  in 
spite  of  himself,  before  he  left  the  store."  A  pass- 
ing throb,  only,  —  but  it  deranged  the  nice  mech- 
anism required  to  persuade  the  accidental  human 
being,  x,  into  a  given  piece  of  broadcloth,  a. 

We  must  take  care  not  to  confound  this  fre- 
quent difficulty  of  transmission  of  our  ideas  with 
want  of  ideas.  I  suppose  that  a  man's  mind  does 
in  time  form  a  neutral  salt  with  the  elements  in 
the  universe  for  which  it  has  special  elective  affin- 
ities. In  fact,  I  look  upon  a  library  as  a  kind  of 
mental  chemist's  shop,  filled  with  the  crystals  of 
all  forms  and  hues  which  have  come  from  the 
union  of  individual  thought  with  local  circumstan- 
ces or  universal  principles. 

When  a  man  has  worked  out  his  special  affini- 
ties in  this  way,  there  is  an  end  of  his  genius  as 
a  real  solvent.  No  more  effervescence  and  hissing 
tumult  as  he  pours  his  sharp  thought  on  the 
world's  biting  alkaline  unbeliefs!  No  more  corro- 
sion of  the  old  monumental  tablets  covered  with 
lies  !  No  more  taking  up  of  dull  earths,  and  turn- 
ing them,  first  into  clear  solutions,  and  then  into 
lustrous  prisms ! 


32         THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

I,  the  Professor,  am  very  much  like  other  men. 
I  shall  not  find  out  when  I  have  used  up  my 
affinities.  What  a  blessed  thing  it  is,  that  Nature, 
when  she  invented,  manufactured,  and  patented 
her  authors,  contrived  to  make  critics  out  of  the 
chips  that  were  left !  Painful  as  the  task  is,  they 
never  fail  to  warn  the  author,  in  the  most  impres- 
sive manner,  of  the  probabilities  of  failure  in  what 
he  has  undertaken.  Sad  as  the  necessity  is  to 
their  delicate  sensibilities,  they  never  hesitate  to 
advertise  him  of  the  decline  of  his  powers,  and  to 
press  upon  him  the  propriety  of  retiring  before  he 
sinks  into  imbecility.  Trusting  to  their  kind  offices, 
I  shall  endeavor  to  fulfil 

Bridget  enters  and  begins  clearing  the  table. 

The   following    poem    is    my   ( The    Profes- 


sor's) only  contribution  to  the  great  department  of 
Ocean- Cable  literature.  As  all  the  poets  of  this 
country  will  be  engaged  for  the  next  six  weeks  in 
writing  for  the  premium  offered  by  the  Crystal-Pal- 
ace Company  for  the  Burns  Centenary,  (so  called, 
according  to  our  Benjamin  Franklin,  because  there 
will  be  na'ry  a  cent  for  any  of  us,)  poetry  will  be 
very  scarce  and  dear.  Consumers  may,  conse- 
quently, be  glad  to  take  the  present  article,  which, 
by  the  aid  of  a  Latin  tutor  and  a  Professor  of 
Chemistry,  will  be  found  intelligible  to  the  edu- 
cated classes. 


THK    PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         33 


DE   SAUTY. 

AX    ELECTRO-CHEMICAL    ECLOGUE. 

Professor.  Blue-Nose. 

PROFESSOR. 

Tell  me,  O  Provincial !  speak,  Ceruleo-Nasal ! 
Lives  there  one  De  Sauty  extant  now  among  you, 
"Whispering  Boanerges,  son  of  silent  thunder, 
Holding  talk  -with  nations  ? 

Is  there  a  De  Sauty  ambulant  on  Tellus, 
Bifid-cleft  like  mortals,  dormient  in  night-cap, 
Having  sight,  smell,  hearing,  food-receiving  feature 
Three  times  daily  patent  ? 

Breathes  there  such  a  being,  O  Ceruleo-Nasal? 
Or  is  he  a  mythus,  —  ancient  word  for  "humbug," — 
Such  as  Livy  told  about  the  wolf  that  wet-nursed 
Romulus  and  Remus  ? 

"Was  he  born  of  woman,  this  alleged  De  Sauty  ? 
Or  a  living  product  of  galvanic  action, 
Like  the  acarus  bred  in  Crosse's  flint-solution  ? 
Speak,  thou  Cyano-Rhinal ! 

BLUE-NOSE. 

Many  things  thou  askest,  jackknife-bcaring  stranger, 
Much-conjecturing  mortal,  pork-and-treacle-waster  ! 
Pretermit  thy  whittling,  wheel  thine  ear-flap  toward  me, 
Thou  shalt  hear  them  answered. 
I  - 


34    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

When  the  charge  galvanic  tingled  through  the  cable, 
At  the  polar  focus  of  the  wire  electric 
Suddenly  appeared  a  white-faced  man  among  us  : 
Called  himself  "  I)e  Sauty." 

As  the  small  opossum  held  in  pouch  maternal 
Grasps  the  nutrient  organ  whence  the  term  mammalia, 
So  the  unknown  stranger  held  the  wire  electric, 
Sucking  in  the  current. 

When  the   current  strengthened,   bloomed    the    pale-faced 

stranger,  — 
Took  no  drink  nor  victual,  yet  grew  fat  and  rosy, — 
And  from  time  to  time,  in  sharp  articulation, 
Said,  "All  right!    De  Sauty." 

From  the  lonely  station  passed  the  utterance,  spreading 
Through  the  pines  and  hemlocks  to  the  groves  of  steeples, 
Till  the  land  was  filled  with  loud  reverberations 
Of  "All  right !    De  Sauty." 

When  the  current  slackened,  drooped  the  mystic  stranger, — 
Faded,  faded,  faded,  as  the  stream  grew  weaker, — 
Wasted  to  a  shadow,  with  a  hartshorn  odor 
Of  disintegration. 

Drops  of  deliquescence  glistened  on  his  forehead, 
Whitened  round  his  feet  the  dust  of  efflorescence, 
Till  one  Monday  morning,  when  the  flow  suspended, 
There  was  no  De  Sauty. 

Nothing  but  a  cloud  of  elements  organic, 

C.  O.  H.  N.  Ferrum,  Chor.  Flu.  Sil.  Potassa, 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         35 

Calc.    Sod.    Phosph.   Mag.    Sulphur,  Mang.  (?)  Alumin.  (?) 
Cuprum,  (?) 
Such  a:>  man   i*  made  of. 

Born  of  stream  galvanic,  with  it  he  had  perished! 
There  is  no  De  Sauty  now  there  is  no  current! 
Give  us  a  new  cable,  then  again  we'll  hear  him 
Cry,  UAU  right !    De  Sauty." 


II. 

Back  again!  —  A  turtle — which  means  a  tor- 
toise—  is  fond  of  his  shell;  but  if  you  put  a  live 
coal  on  his  back,  he  crawls  out  of  it.  So  the  boys 
say. 

It  is  a  libel  on  the  turtle.  He  grows  to  his 
shell,  and  his  shell  is  in  his  body  as  much  as  his 
body  is  in  his  shell.  —  I  don't  think  there  is  one 
of  our  boarders  quite  so  testudineous  as  I  am. 
Nothing  but  a  combination  of  motives,  more  per- 
emptory than  the  coal  on  the  turtle's  back,  could 
have  got  me  to  leave  the  shelter  of  my  carapace  ; 
and  after  memorable  interviews,  and  kindest  hos- 
pitalities, and  grand  sights,  and  huge  influx  of 
patriotic  pride,  —  for  every  American  owns  all 
America, — 

"Creation's  heir,  —  the  world,  the  world  is" 


:   -  • 


of 

si  ■■■■lijjhfr;  *nd 

of   8k  Mho,— thy  row 

Torn*;  BrnBt   of  Paolo*   Potter   and 

hkIm*    Yte**xx:    welcome 

to  my  eyes!      The   old  book*   look 

;     ---;.'.     v.     r-^'l     '.:. 
\- .--:,  —  >    ,  -.-; 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.    37 

of  solemn  greeting.  The  crimson  carpet  flushes 
warm  under  my  feet.  The  arm-chair  hugs  me  ; 
the  swivel-chair  spins  round  with  me,  as  if  it 
were  giddy  with  pleasure ;  the  vast  recumbent 
fauteuil  stretches  itself  out  under  my  weight,  as 
one  joyous  with  food  and  wine  stretches  in  after- 
dinner  laughter. 

The  boarders  were  pleased  to  say  that  they 
were  glad  to  get  me  back.  One  of  them  ven- 
tured a  compliment,  namely,  —  that  I  talked  as 
if  I  believed  what  I  said.  —  This  was  apparently 
considered  something  unusual,  by  its  being  men- 
tioned. 

One  who  means  to  talk  with  entire  sincerity, — 
I  said,  —  always  feels  himself  in  danger  of  two 
things,  namely,  —  an  affectation  of  bluntness,  like 
that  of  which  Cornwall  accuses  Kent  in  "  Lear," 
and  actual  rudeness.  What  a  man  wants  to  do, 
in  talking  with  a  stranger,  is  to  get  and  to  give  as 
much  of  the  best  and  most  real  life  that  belongs 
to  the  two  talkers  as  the  time  will  let  him.  Life 
is  short,  and  conversation  apt  to  run  to  mere 
words.  Mr.  Hue  I  think  it  is,  who  tells  us  some 
very  good  stories  about  the  way  in  which  two 
Chinese  gentlemen  contrive  to  keep  up  a  long  talk 
without  saying  a  word  which  has  any  meaning  in 
it.  Something  like  this  is  occasionally  heard  on 
this  side  of  the  Great  Wall.  The  best  Chinese 
talkers    I   know  are    some    pretty  women  whom    I 


38         THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

meet  from  time  to  time.  Pleasant,  airy,  compli- 
mentary, the  little  flakes  of  flattery  glimmering 
in  their  talk  like  the  bits  of  gold-leaf  in  eau- 
de-vie  de  Dantzic;  their  accents  flowing  on  in  a 
soft  ripple,  —  never  a  wave,  and  never  a  calm  ; 
words  nicely  fitted,  but  never  a  colored  phrase 
or  a  high-flavored  epithet  ;  they  turn  air  into 
syllables  so  gracefully,  that  we  find  meaning  for 
the  music  they  make  as  we  find  faces  in  the 
coals  and  fairy  palaces  in  the  clouds.  There  is 
something  very  odd,  though,  about  this  mechan- 
ical talk. 

You  have  sometimes  been  in  a  train  on  the 
railroad  when  the  engine  was  detached  a  long 
way  from  the  station  you  were  approaching  ? 
Well,  you  have  noticed  how  quietly  and  rapidly 
the  cars  kept  on,  just  as  if  the  locomotive  were 
drawing  them  ?  Indeed,  you  would  not  have  sus- 
pected that  you  were  travelling  on  the  strength  of 
a  dead  fact,  if  you  had  not  seen  the  engine  run- 
ning away  from  you  on  a  side-track.  Upon  my 
conscience,  I  believe  some  of  these  pretty  women 
detach  their  minds  entirely,  sometimes,  from  their 
talk,  —  and,  what  is  more,  that  we  never  know  the 
difference.  Their  lips  let  off  the  fluty  syllables  just 
as  their  fingers  would  sprinkle  the  music-drops 
from  their  pianos  ;  unconscious  habit  turns  the 
phrase  of  thought  into  words  just  as  it  does  that 
of  music  into  notes. —  Well,  they  govern  the  world, 


Till:   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.        M 

for  all  that,  —  these  sweet-lipped  women,  —  be- 
cause beauty  is  the  index  of  a  larger  fact  than 
wisdom. 

The  Bombazine  wanted  an  explanation. 

Madam,  —  said  I,  —  wisdom  is  the  abstract  of 
the  past,  but  beauty  is  the  promise  of  the  fu- 
ture. 

All  this,  however,  is  not  what  I  was  going 

to  say.  Here  am  I,  suppose,  seated  —  we  will  say 
at  a  dinner-table  —  alongside  of  an  intelligent  Eng- 
lishman. We  look  in  each  other's  faces,  —  we  ex- 
change a  dozen  words.  One  thing  is  settled  :  we 
mean  not  to  offend  each  other,  —  to  be  perfectly 
courteous,  —  more  than  courteous  ;  for  we  are  the 
entertainer  and  the  entertained,  and  cherish  par- 
ticularly amiable  feelings  to  each  other.  The  clar- 
et is  good ;  and  if  our  blood  reddens  a  little 
with  its  warm  crimson,  we  are  none  the  less  kind 
for  it. 

1   don't   think    people    that   talk   over   their 

victuals  are  like  to  say  anything  very  great,  espe- 
cially if  they  get  their  heads  muddled  with  strong 
drink  before  they  begin  jabberin'. 

The  Bombazine  uttered  this  with  a  sugary 
sourness,  as  if  the  words  had  been  steeped  in 
a  solution  of  acetate  of  lead.  —  The  boys  of 
my  time  used  to  call  a  hit  like  this  a  "  side- 
winder." 

1  must  finish  this  woman. — 


40    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Madam,  —  I  said,  —  the  Great  Teacher  seems  to 
have  been  fond  of  talking  as  he  sat  at  meat.  Be- 
cause this  was  a  good  while  ago,  in  a  far-off  place, 
you  forget  what  the  true  fact  of  it  was,  —  that 
those  were  real  dinners,  where  people  were  hungry 
and  thirsty,  and  where  you  met  a  very  miscella- 
neous company.  Probably  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  loose  talk  among  the  guests ;  at  any  rate,  there 
was  always  wine,  we  may  believe. 

Whatever  may  be  the  hygienic  advantages  or 
disadvantages  of  wine,  —  and  I  for  one,  except 
for  certain  particular  ends,  believe  in  water,  and,  I 
blush  to  say  it,  in  black  tea,  —  there  is  no  doubt 
about  its  being  the  grand  specific  against  dull 
dinners.  A  score  of  people  come  together  in  all 
moods  of  mind  and  body.  The  problem  is,  in 
the  space  of  one  hour,  more  or  less,  to  bring 
them  all  into  the  same  condition  of  slightly  exalt- 
ed life.  Food  alone  is  enough  for  one  person, 
perhaps,  —  talk,  alone,  for  another ;  but  the  grand 
equalizer  and  fraternizer,  which  works  up  the  ra- 
diators to  their  maximum  radiation,  and  the  ab- 
sorbents to  their  maximum  receptivity,  is  now  just 
where  it  was  when 

"  The  conscious  water  saw  its  Lord  and  blushed," 

—  when  six  great  vessels  containing  water,  the 
whole  amounting  to  more  than  a  hogshead-full, 
were    changed    into    the    best    of    wine.      I    once 


THi:    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         41 

wrote  a  song  about  wine,  in  which  I  spoke  so 
warmly  of  it,  that  I  was  afraid  some  would  think 
it  was  written  inter  pocula ;  whereas  it  was  com- 
posed in  the  bosom  of  my  family,  under  the  most 
tranquillizing  domestic  influences. 

The    divinity-student    turned    towards    me, 

looking  mischievous. —  Can  you  tell  me,  —  he  said, 
—  who  wrote  a  song  for  a  temperance  celebra- 
tion once,  of  which  the  following  is  a  verse?  — 

Alas  for  the  loved  one,  too  gentle  and  fair 
The  joys  of  the  banquet  to  chasten  and  share  ! 
Her  eye  lost  its  light  that  his  goblet  might  shine, 
And  the  rose  of  her  cheek  was  dissolved  in  his  wine  ! 

I  did,  —  I  answered. —  What  are  you  going  to 
do  about  it?  —  I  will  tell  you  another  line  I  wrote 
long  ago  :  — 

Don't  be  "  consistent,"  —  but  be  simply  true. 

The  longer  I  live, v the  more  I  am  satisfied  of 
two  things :  first,  that  the  truest  lives  are  those 
that  are  cut  rose-diamond-fashion,  with  many  fa- 
cets answering  to  the  many-planed  aspects  of  the 
world  about  them  ;  secondly,  that  society  is  al- 
ways trying  in  some  way  or  other  to  grind  us 
down  to  a  single  flat  surface.  It  is  hard  work  to 
resist  this  grinding-down  action.  —  Now  give  me 
a  chance.  Better  eternal  and  universal  abstinence 
than  the  brutalities  of  those  days  that  made  wive- 


42    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

and  mothers  and  daughters  and  sisters  blush  for 
those  whom  they  should  have  honored,  as  they 
came  reeling  home  from  their  debauches !  Yet 
better  even  excess  than  lying  and  hypocrisy  ;  and 
if  wine  is  upon  all  our  tables,  let  us  praise  it  for 
its  color  and  fragrance  and  social  tendency,  so  far 
as  it  deserves,  and  not  hug  a  bottle  in  the  closet 
and  pretend  not  to  know  the  use  of  a  wine-glass 
at  a  public  dinner !  I  think  you  will  find  that 
people  who  honestly  mean  to  be  true  really  con- 
tradict themselves  much  more  rarely  than  those 
who  try  to  be  "  consistent."  But  a  great  many 
things  we  say  can  be  made  to  appear  contradic- 
tory, simply  because  they  are  partial  views  of  a 
truth,  and  may  often  look  unlike  at  first,  as  a 
front  view  of  a  face  and  its  profile  often  do. 

Here  is  a  distinguished  divine,  for  whom  I  have 
great  respect,  for  I  owe  him  a  charming  hour  at 
one  of  our  literary  anniversaries,  and  he  has  often 
spoken  noble  words ;  but  he  holds  up  a  remark  of 
my  friend  the  "Autocrat,"  —  which  I  grieve  to  say 
he  twice  misquotes,  by  omitting  the  very  word 
which  gives  it  its  significance,  —  the  word  fluid, 
intended  to  typify  the  mobility  of  the  restricted 
will,  —  holds  it  up,  I  say,  as  if  it  attacked  the  real- 
ity of  the  self-determining  principle,  instead  of 
illustrating  its  limitations  by  an  image.  Now  I 
will  not  explain  any  farther,  still  less  defend,  and 
least  of  all  attack,  but  simply  quote   a  few  lines 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         43 

from  one  of  my  friend's  poems,  printed  more  than 
ten  years  ago,  and  ask  the  distinguished  gentle- 
man where  he  has  ever  asserted  more  strongly  or 
absolutely  the  independent  will  of  the  "  subcre- 
ative  centre,"  as  my  heretical  friend  has  elsewhere 
called  man. 

—  Thought,  conscience,  will,  to  make  them  all  thy  own 
He  rent  a  pillar  from  the  eternal  throne  ! 

—  Made  in  His  image,  thou  must  nobly  dare 
The  thorny  crown  of  sovereignty  to  share. 

—  Think  not  too  meanly  of  thy  low  estate ; 
Thou  hast  a  choice ;  to  choose  is  to  create  ! 

If  he  will  look  a  little  closely,  he  will  see  that  the 
profile  and  the  full-face  views  of  the  will  are  both 
true  and  perfectly  consistent. 

Now  let  us  come  back,  after  this  long  digres- 
sion, to  the  conversation  with  the  intelligent  Eng- 
lishman. We  begin  skirmishing  with  a  few  light 
ideas,  —  testing  for  thoughts,  —  as  our  electro-chem- 
ical friend,  De  Sauty,  if  there  were  such  a  person, 
would  test  for  his  current;  trying  a  little  litmus- 
paper  for  acids,  and  then  a  slip  of  turmeric-paper 
for  alkalies,  as  chemists  do  with  unknown  com- 
pounds ;  flinging  the  lead,  and  looking  at  the 
shells  and  sands  it  brings  up  to  find  out  whether 
we  are  like  to  keep  in  shallow  water,  or  shall 
have  to  drop  the  deep-sea  line;  —  in  short,  see- 
ing  what   we    have    to    deal   with.       If   the    Eng- 


44    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

lishman  gets  his  Hs  pretty  well  placed,  he  comes 
from  one  of  the  higher  grades  of  the  British  so- 
cial order,  and  we  shall  find  him  a  good  com- 
panion. 

But,  after  all,  here  is  a  great  fact  between  us. 
We  belong  to  two  different  civilizations,  and,  un- 
til we  recognize  what  separates  us,  we  are  talking 
like  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  without  any  hole  in  the 
wall  to  talk  through.  Therefore,  on  the  whole,  if 
he  were  a  superior  fellow,  incapable  of  mistaking 
it  for  personal  conceit,  I  think  I  would  let  out  the 
fact  of  the  real  American  feeling  about  Old- World 
folks.  They  are  children  to  us  in  certain  points  of 
view.  They  are  playing  with  toys  we  have  done 
with  for  whole  generations.  That  silly  little  drum 
they  are  always  beating  on,  and  the  trumpet  and 
the  feather  they  make  so  much  noise  and  cut  such 
a  figure  with,  we  have  not  quite  outgrown,  but 
play  with  much  less  seriously  and  constantly  than 
they  do.  Then  there  is  a  whole  museum  of  wigs, 
and  masks,  and  lace-coats,  and  gold-sticks,  and 
grimaces,  and  phrases,  which  we  laugh  at  honest- 
ly, without  affectation,  that  are  still  used  in  the 
Old- World  puppet-shows.  I  don't  think  we  on 
our  part  ever  understand  the  Englishman's  con- 
centrated loyalty  and  specialized  reverence.  But 
then  we  do  think  more  of  a  man,  as  such,  (barring 
some  little  difficulties  about  race  and  complexion 
which  the  Englishman  will  touch  us  on  presently,) 


THE  PSOFESSOfi  AT  THE   I'.KKAK  FAST-TABLE.         L£ 

than  any  people  that  ever  lived  did  think  of  him. 
Our  reverence  is  a  great  deal  wider,  if  it  is  less 
intense.  We  have  caste  among  us,  to  some  ex- 
tent, it  is  true  ;  but  there  is  never  a  collar  on  the 
American  wolf-dog  such  as  you  often  see  on  the 
English  mastiff,  notwithstanding  his  robust,  hearty 
individuality. 

This  confronting  of  two  civilizations  is  always  a 
grand  sensation  to  me ;  it  is  like  cutting  through 
the  isthmus  and  letting  the  two  oceans  swim  into 
each  other's  laps.  The  trouble  is,  it  is  so  difficult 
to  let  out  the  whole  American  nature  without  its 
self-assertion  seeming  to  take  a  personal  character. 
But  I  never  enjoy  the  Englishman  so  much  as 
when  he  talks  of  church  and  king  like  Manco 
Capac  among  the  Peruvians.  Then  you  get  the 
real  British  flavor,  which  the  cosmopolite  English- 
man loses. 

How  much  better  this  thorough  interpenetration 
of  ideas  than  a  barren  interchange  of  courtesies, 
or  a  bush-fighting  argument,  in  which  each  man 
tries  to  cover  as  much  of  himself  and  expose  as 
much  of  his  opponent  as  the  tangled  thicket  of 
the  disputed  ground  will  let  him  ! 

My    thoughts    flow    in    layers    or    strata,   at 

least  three  deep.  I  follow  a  slow  person's  talk, 
and  keep  a  perfectly  clear  under-current  of  my 
own  beneath  it.  Under  both  runs  obscurely  a 
consciousness    belonging    to    a    third    train    of    re- 


46    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

flections,  independent  of  the  two  others.  I  will 
try  to  write  out  a  mental  movement  in  three 
parts. 

A. — First  voice,  or  Mental  Soprano,  —  thought 
follows  a  woman  talking. 

B.  —  Second  voice,  or  Mental  Barytone,  —  my 
running  accompaniment. 

C. —  Third  voice,  or  Mental  Basso, — low  grum- 
ble of   an  importunate  self-repeating  idea. 

A.  —  White  lace,  three  skirts,  looped  with  flow- 
ers, wreath  of  apple-blossoms,  gold  bracelets,  dia- 
mond pin  and  ear-rings,  the  most  delicious  berthe 
you  ever  saw,  white  satin  slippers 

B. —  Deuse  take  her!  What  a  fool  she  is! 
Hear  her  chatter !  (Look  out  of  window  just 
here. —  Two  pages  and  a  half  of  description,  if  it 
were   all  written    out,  in   one   tenth    of   a    second.) 

—  Go  ahead,  old  lady!  (Eye  catches  picture  over 
fireplace.)  There's  that  infernal  family  nose!  Came 
over  in  the  "Mayflower"  on  the  first  old  fool's 
face.     Why  don't  they  wear  a  ring  in  it? 

C. —  You'll  be  late  at  lecture,  —  late   at   lecture, 

—  late,  —  late,  —  late 

I  observe  that  a  deep  layer  of  thought  some- 
times makes  itself  felt  through  the  superincumbent 
strata,  thus : —  The  usual  single  or  double  currents 


THE    PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  17 

shall  flow  on,  but  there  shall  be  an  influence 
blending  with  them,  disturbing  them  in  an  ob- 
scure way,  until  all  at  once  I  say,  —  Oh,  there !  I 
knew  there  was  something  troubling  me,  —  and  the 
Thought  which  had  been  working  through  comes 
up  to  the  surface  clear,  definite,  and  articulates 
itself,  —  a  disagreeable  duty,  perhaps,  or  an  un- 
pleasant recollection. 

The  inner  world  of  thought  and  the  outer  world 
of  events  are  alike  in  this,  that  they  are  both 
brimful.  There  is  no  space  between  consecutive 
thoughts,  or  between  the  never-ending  series  of 
actions.  All  pack  tight,  and  mould  their  surfaces 
against  each  other,  so  that  in  the  long  run  there 
is  a  wonderful  average  uniformity  in  the  forms  of 
both  thoughts  and  actions,  —  just  as  you  find  that 
cylinders  crowded  all  become  hexagonal  prisms, 
and  spheres  pressed  together  are  formed  into  regu- 
lar polyhedra. 

Every  event  that  a  man  would  master  must  be 
mounted  on  the  run,  and  no  man  ever  caught  the 
reins  of  a  thought  except  as  it  galloped  by  him. 
So,  to  carry  out,  with  another  comparison,  my 
remark  about  the  layers  of  thought,  we  may  con- 
sider the  mind,  as  it  moves  among  thoughts  or 
events,  like  a  circus-rider  whirling  round  with  a 
great  troop  of  horses.  He  can  mount  a  fact  or 
an  idea,  and  guide  it  more  or  less  completely, 
but  he  cannot  stop   it.     So,  as    I    said    in    another 


48         THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

way  at  the  beginning,  he  can  stride  two  or  three 
thoughts  at  once,  but  not  break  their  steady  walk, 
trot,  or  gallop.  He  can  only  take  his  foot  from 
the  saddle  of  one  thought  and  put  it  on  that  of 
another. 

What  is  the  saddle   of  a   thought  ?     Why, 

a  word,  of  course.  —  Twenty  years  after  you  have 
dismissed  a  thought,  it  suddenly  wedges  up  to 
you  through  the  press,  as  if  it  had  been  steadily 
galloping  round  and  round  all  that  time  without 
a  rider. 

The  will  does  not  act  in  the  interspaces  of 
thought,  for  there  are  no  such  interspaces,  but  sim- 
ply steps  from  the  back  of  one  moving  thought 
upon  that  of  another. 

1  should  like  to  ask,  —  said  the  divinity- 
student,  —  since  we  are  getting  into  metaphysics, 
how  you  can  admit  space,  if  all  things  are  in 
contact,  and  how  you  can  admit  time,  if  it  is 
always  now  to  something? 

—  I  thought  it  best  not  to  hear  this  question. 

1  wonder  if  you  know  this  class  of  phi- 
losophers in  books  or  elsewhere.  One  of  them 
makes  his  bow  to  the  public,  and  exhibits  an  un- 
fortunate truth  bandaged  up  so  that  it  cannot  stir 
hand  or  foot,  —  as  helpless,  apparently,  and  unable 
to  take  care  of  itself,  as  an  Egyptian  mummy. 
He  then  proceeds,  with  the  air  and  method  of  a 
master,    to   take   off  the    bandages.      Nothing    can 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         49 

be  neater  than  the  way  in  which  he  does  it.  But 
as  he  takes  off  layer  after  layer,  the  truth  seems 
to  grow  smaller  and  smaller,  and  some  of  its  out- 
lines begin  to  look  like  something  we  have  seen 
before.  At  last,  when  he  has  got  them  all  off, 
and  the  truth  struts  out  naked,  we  recognize  it  as 
a  diminutive  and  familiar  acquaintance  whom  we 
have  known  in  the  streets  all  our  lives.  The  fact 
is,  the  philosopher  has  coaxed  the  truth  into  his 
study  and  put  all  those  bandages  on ;  of  course  it 
is  not  very  hard  for  him  to  take  them  off.  Still, 
a  great  many  people  like  to  watch  the  process, — 
he  does  it  so  neatly ! 

Dear!  dear!  I  am  ashamed  to  write  and  talk, 
sometimes,  when  I  see  how  those  functions  of 
the  large-brained,  thumb-opposing  plantigrade  are 
abused  by  my  fellow-vertebrates,  —  perhaps  by  my- 
self. How  they  spar  for  wind,  instead  of  hitting 
from  the  shoulder ! 

The    young    fellow  called    John    arose    and 

placed  himself  in  a  neat  fighting  attitude.  —  Fetch 
on  the  fellah  that  makes  them  long  words !  —  he 
said,  —  and  planted  a  straight  hit  with  the  right 
fist  in  the  concave  palm  of  the  left  hand  with  a 
click  like  a  cup  and  ball. —  You  small  boy  there, 
hurry  up  that  ';  Webster's  Unabridged  ! " 

The  little  gentleman  with  the  malformation,  be- 
fore described,  shocked  the  propriety  of  the  break- 
fast-table  by  a   loud    utterance   of  three   words,  of 

3 


50         THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

which  the  two  last  were  "  Webster's  Unabridged," 
and  the  first  was  an  emphatic  monosyllable.  —  Beg 
pardon,  —  he  added,  —  forgot  myself.  But  let  us 
have  an  English  dictionary,  if  we  are  to  have  any. 
I  don't  believe  in  clipping  the  coin  of  the  realm, 
Sir!  If  I  put  a  weathercock  on  my  house,  Sir,  I 
want  it  to  tell  which  way  the  wind  blows  up  aloft, 
—  off  from  the  prairies  to  the  ocean,  or  off  from 
the  ocean  to  the  prairies,  or  any  way  it  wants  to 
blow!  I  don't  want  a  weathercock  with  a  winch 
in  an  old  gentleman's  study  that  he  can  take  hold 
of  and  turn,  so  that  the  vane  shall  point  west 
when  the  great  wind  overhead  is  blowing  east 
with  all  its  might,  Sir!  Wait  till  we  give  you  a 
dictionary,  Sir !  It  takes  Boston  to  do  that  thing, 
Sir! 

Some  folks  think  water  can't  run  down-hill 

anywhere  out  of  Boston,  —  remarked  the  Koh-i- 
noor. 

I  don't  know  what  some  folks  think  so  well  as  I 
know  what  some  fools  say, — rejoined  the  Little  Gen- 
tleman.—  If  importing  most  dry  goods  made  the 
best  scholars,  I  dare  say  you  would  know  where  to 
look  for  'em.  —  Mr.  Webster  couldn't  spell,  Sir,  or 
wouldn't  spell,  Sir,  —  at  any  rate,  he  didn't  spell ; 
and  the  end  of  it  was  a  fight  between  the  owners 
of  some  copyrights  and  the  dignity  of  this  noble 
language  which  we  have  inherited  from  our  Eng- 
lish fathers.     Language  !  —  the   blood   of  the   soul, 


Tin:   PBOFESSOB   AT   THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.         51 


Sir!  into  which  our  thoughts  run  and  out  of  which 
they  grow!  We  know  what  a  word  is  worth  here 
in  Boston.  Young  Sam  Adams  got  up  on  the 
stage  at  Commencement,  out  at  Cambridge  there, 
with  his  gown  on,  the  Governor  and  Council  look- 
ing on  in  the  name  of  his  Majesty,  King  George 
the  Second,  and  the  girls  looking  down  out  of  the 
galleries,  and  taught  people  how  to  spell  a  word 
that  wasn't  in  the  Colonial  dictionaries  !  R-e,  re, 
s-i-s,  sis,  t-a-n-c-e,  tance,  Resistance  !  That  was  in 
'43.  and  it  was  a  good  many  years  before  the  Bos- 
ton boys  began  spelling  it  with  their  muskets ;  — 
but  when  they  did  begin,  they  spelt  it  so  loud  that 
the  old  bedridden  women  in  the  English  almhouses 
heard  every  syllable  !  Yes,  yes,  yes,  —  it  was  a 
good  while  before  those  other  two  Boston  boys  got 
the  class  so  far  along  that  it  could  spell  those  two 
hard  words,  Independence  and  Union !  I  tell  you 
what,  Sir,  there  are  a  thousand  lives,  aye,  some- 
times a  million,  go  to  get  a  new  word  into  a  lan- 
guage that  is  worth  speaking.  We  know  what 
language  means  too  well  here  in  Boston  to  play 
tricks  with  it.  We  never  make  a  new  word  till 
we  have  made  a  new  thing  or  a  new  thought,  Sir! 
When  we  shaped  the  new  mould  of  this  continent, 
we  had  to  make  a  few.  When,  by  God's  permis- 
sion, we  abrogated  the  primal  curse  of  maternity, 
we  had  to  make  a  word  or  two.  The  cutwater 
of    :his    great    Leviathan    clipper,    the   Occident al. 


52         THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

—  this    thirty-masted  wind-and-steam  wave-crusher, 

—  must  throw  a  little  spray  over  the  human  vo- 
cabulary as  it  splits  the  waters  of  a  new  world's 
destiny ! 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  until  his  stature  seemed 
to  swell  into  the  fair  human  proportions.  His 
feet  must  have  been  on  the  upper  round  of  his 
high  chair;  —  that  was  the  only  way  I  could  ac- 
count for  it. 

Puts  her  through  fust-rate,  —  said  the  young  fel- 
low whom  the  boarders  call  John. 

The  venerable  and  kind-looking  old  gentleman 
who  sits  opposite  said  he  remembered  Sam  Adams 
as  Governor.  An  old  man  in  a  brown  coat.  Saw 
him  take  the  Chair  on  Boston  Common.  Was  a 
boy  then,  and  remembers  sitting  on  the  fence  in 
front  of  the  old  Hancock  house.  Recollects  he 
had  a  glazed  'lection-bun,  and  sat  eating  it  and 
looking  down  on  to  the  Common.  Lalocks  flow- 
ered late  that  year,  and  he  got  a  great  bunch  off 
from  the  bushes  in  the  Hancock  front-yard. 

Them  'lection  buns  are  no  go,  —  said  the  young 
man  John,  so  called.  —  I  know  the  trick.  Give 
a  fellah  a  fo'penny  bun  in  the  mornin',  an'  he 
downs  the  whole  of  it.  In  about  an  hour  it 
swells  up  in  his  stomach  as  big  as  a  football,  and 
his  feelin's  sp'ilt  for  that  day.  That's  the  way  to 
stop  off  a  young  one  from  eatin'  up  all  the  'lection 
dinner. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         58 

Salem!  Salem!  not  Boston,  —  shouted  the  little 
man. 

But  the  Koh-i-noor  laughed  a  great  rasping 
laugh,  and  the  boy  Benjamin  Franklin  looked 
sharp  at  his  mother,  as  if  he  remembered  the  bun- 
experiment  as  a  part  of  his  past  personal  his- 
tory. 

The  little  gentleman  was  holding  a  fork  in  his 
left  hand.  He  stabbed  a  boulder  of  home-made 
bread  with  it,  mechanically,  and  looked  at  it  as  if 
it  ought  to  shriek.  It  did  not,  —  but  he  sat  as  if 
watching  it. 

Language  is  a  solemn  thing,  —  I  said.  —  It 

grows  out  of  life,  —  out  of  its  agonies  and  ecsta- 
sies, its  wants  and  its  weariness.  Every  language 
is  a  temple,  in  which  the  soul  of  those  who  speak 
it  is  enshrined.  Because  time  softens  its  outlines 
and  rounds  the  sharp  angles  of  its  cornices,  shall 
a  fellow  take  a  pickaxe  to  help  time  ?  Let  me 
tell  you  what  comes  of  meddling  with  things  that 
can  take  care  of  themselves.  —  A  friend  of  mine 
had  a  watch  given  him,  when  he  was  a  boy,  —  a 
"  bull's  eye,"  with  a  loose  silver  case  that  came 
off  like  an  oyster-shell  from  its  contents  ;  you 
know  them,  —  the  cases  that  you  hang  on  your 
thumb,  while  the  core,  or  the  real  watch,  lies  in 
your  hand  as  naked  as  a  peeled  apple.  Well,  he 
began  with  taking  off  the  case,  and  so  on  from 
one  liberty  to  another,  until  he   got  it  fairly  open, 


54:         THE  PKOFESSOK  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

and  there  were  the  works,  as  good  as  if  they  were 
alive,  —  crown-wheel,  balance-wheel,  and  all  the  rest. 
All  right  except  one  thing,  —  there  was  a  con- 
founded little  hair  had  got  tangled  round  the  bal- 
ance-wheel. So  my  young  Solomon  got  a  pair 
of  tweezers,  and  caught  hold  of  the  hair  very 
nicely,  and  pulled  it  right  out,  without  touching 
any  of  the  wheels,  —  when,  —  buzzzZZZ  !  and  the 
watch  had  done  up  twenty-four  hours  in  double 
magnetic-telegraph  time  !  —  The  English  language 
was  wound  up  to  run  some  thousands  of  years, 
I  trust ;  but  if  everybody  is  to  be  pulling  at  every- 
thing he  thinks  is  a  hair,  our  grandchildren  will 
have  to  make  the  discovery  that  it  is  a  hair-spring', 
and  the  old  Anglo-Norman  soul's-timekeeper  will 
run  down,  as  so  many  other  dialects  have  done 
before  it.  I  can't  stand  this  meddling  any  better 
than  you,  Sir.  But  we  have  a  great  deal  to  be 
proud  of  in  the  lifelong  labors  of  that  old  lexi- 
cographer, and  we  mustn't  be  ungrateful.  Besides, 
don't  let  us  deceive  ourselves,  —  the  war  of  the 
dictionaries  is  only  a  disguised  rivalry  of  cities, 
colleges,  and  especially  of  publishers.  After  all, 
it  is  likely  that  the  language  will  shape  itself  by 
larger  forces  than  phonography  and  dictionary-mak- 
ing. You  may  spade  up  the  ocean  as  much  as 
you  like,  and  harrow  it  afterwards,  if  you  can, — 
but  the  moon  will  still  lead  the  tides,  and  the 
winds  will  form  their  surface. 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         00 

Do  you   know   Richardson's   Dictionary?  — 

I  said   to  my  neighbor  the  divinity-student 

Haow  ?  —  said  the  divinity-student — lie  colored, 
as  he  noticed  on  my  face  a  twitch  in  one  of  the 
muscles  which  tuck  up  the  corner  of  the  month, 
(zygomatieus  major,)  and  which  I  could  not  hold 
back  from  making  a  little  movement  on  its  own 
account. 

It  was  too  late.  —  A  country-boy,  lassoed  when 
he  was  a  half-grown  colt.  Just  as  good  as  a 
city-boy,  and  in  some  ways,  perhaps,  better,  —  but 
caught  a  little  too  old  not  to  carry  some  marks 
of  his  earlier  ways  of  life.  Foreigners,  who  have 
talked  a  strange  tongue  half  their  lives,  return  to 
the  language  of  their  childhood  in  their  dying 
hours.  Gentlemen  in  fine  linen,  and  scholars  in 
large  libraries,  taken  by  surprise,  or  in  a  careless 
moment,  will  sometimes  let  slip  a  word  they  knew 
as  boys  in  homespun  and  have  not  spoken  since* 
that  time,  —  but  it  lay  there  under  all  their  culture. 
That  is  one  way  you -may  know  the  country-boys 
after  they  have  grown  rich  or  celebrated ;  another 
is  by  the  odd  old  family  names,  particularly  those 
of  the  Hebrew  prophets,  which  the  good  old  peo- 
ple have  saddled  them  with. 

Boston  has  enough  of  England  about  it  to 

make  a  good  Enirli^h  dictionary,  —  said  that  firesb- 
looking  youth  whom  I  have  mentioned  as  sitting 
at  the  right  upper  corner  of  the  table. 


56         THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

I  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  —  for 
the  pure,  manly  intonations  arrested  me.  The 
voice  was  youthful,  but  full  of  character.  —  I  sup- 
pose some  persons  have  a  peculiar  susceptibility  in 
the  matter  of  voice.  —  Hear  this. 

Not  long  after  the  American  Revolution,  a 
young  lady  was  sitting  in  her  father's  chaise  in  a 
street  of  this  town  of  Boston.  She  overheard  a 
little  girl  talking  or  singing,  and  was  mightily 
taken  with  the  tones  of  her  voice.  Nothing  would 
satisfy  her  but  she  must  have  that  little  girl  come 
and  live  in  her  father's  house.  So  the  child  came, 
being  then  nine  years  old.  Until  her  marriage 
she  remained  under  the  same  roof  with  the  young 
lady.  Her  children  became  successively  inmates 
of  the  lady's  dwelling ;  and  now,  seventy  years,  or 
thereabouts,  since  the  young  lady  heard  the  child 
singing,  one  of  that  child's  children  and  one  of 
her  grandchildren  are  with  her  in  that  home,  where 
she,  no  longer  young,  except  in  heart,  passes  her 
peaceful  days.  —  Three  generations  linked  together 
by  so  light  a  breath  of  accident ! 

I  liked  the  sound  of  this  youth's  voice,  I  said, 
and  his  look  when  I  came  to  observe  him  a  little 
more  closely.  His  complexion  had  something  bet- 
ter than  the  bloom  and  freshness  which  had  first 
attracted  me  ;  —  it  had  that  diffused  tone  which  is 
a  sure  index  of  wholesome  lusty  life.  A  fine  lib- 
eral style  of  nature  it  seemed  to  be:    hair   crisped, 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         <r>7 

moustache  springing  thick  and  dark,  head  firmly 
planted,  lips  finished,  as  one  commonly  sees  them 
in  gentlemen's  families,  a  pupil  well  contracted, 
and  a  mouth  that  opened  frankly  with  a  white 
flash  of  teeth  that  looked  as  if  they  could  serve 
him  as  they  say  Ethan  Allen's  used  to  serve  their 
owner,  —  to  draw  nails  with.  This  is  the  kind  of 
fellow  to  walk  a  frigate's  deck  and  bowl  his 
broadsides  into  the  "  Gadlant  Thudnder-bomb,"  or 
any  forty-portholed  adventurer  who  would  like  to 
exchange  a  few  tons  of  iron  compliments.  —  I 
don't  know  what  put  this  into  my  head,  for  it 
was  not  till  some  time  afterward  I  learned  the 
young  fellow  had  been  in  the  naval  school  at 
Annapolis.  Something  had  happened  to  change 
his  plan  of  life,  and  he  was  now  studying  engi- 
neering and  architecture  in  Boston. 

When  the  youth  made  the  short  remark  which 
drew  my  attention  to  him,  the  little  deformed 
gentleman  turned  round  and  took  a  long  look  at 
him. 

Good  for  the  Boston  boy !  —  he  said. 

I  am  not  a  Boston  boy,  —  said  the  youth,  smil- 
ing, —  I  am  a  Marylander. 

I  don't  care  where  you  come  from,  —  we'll  make 
a  Boston  man  of  you,  —  said  the  little  gentleman. 
—  Pray,  what  part  of  Maryland  did  you  come 
from,  and  how  shall  I  call  you  ? 

The  poor  youth  had  to  speak  pretty  loud,  as  he 

3* 


58         THE  PROFESSOR   AT    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

was  at  the  right  upper  corner  of  the  table,  and 
the  little  gentleman  next  the  lower  left-hand  cor- 
ner. His  face  flushed  a  little,  but  he  answered 
pleasantly,  —  telling  who  he  was,  as  if  the  little 
man's  infirmity  gave  him  a  right  to  ask  any  ques- 
tions he  wanted  to. 

Here  is  the  place  for  you  to  sit,  —  said  the  lit- 
tle gentleman,  pointing  to  the  vacant  chair  next 
his  own,  at  the  corner. 

You're  go'n'  to  have  a  young  lady  next  you,  if 
you  wait  till  to-morrow,  —  said  the  landlady  to 
him. 

He  did  not  reply,  but  I  had  a  fancy  that  he 
changed  color.  It  can't  be  that  he  has  suscepti- 
bilities with  reference  to  a  contingent  young  lady! 
It  can't  be  that  he  has  had  experiences  which 
make  him  sensitive !  Nature  could  not  be  quite 
so  cruel  as  to  set  a  heart  throbbing  in  that  poor 
little  cage  of  ribs  !  There  is  no  use  in  wasting 
notes  of  admiration.  I  must  ask  the  landlady 
about  him. 

These  are  some  of  the  facts  she  furnished.  — 
Has  not  been  long  with  her.  Brought  a  sight  of 
furniture,  —  couldn't  hardly  get  some  of  it  up- 
stairs. Hasn't  seemed  particularly  attentive  to  the 
ladies.  The  Bombazine  (whom  she  calls  Cousin 
something  or  other)  has  tried  to  enter  into  conver- 
sation with  him,  but  retired  with  the  impression 
that  he  was  indifferent  to  ladies'  society.     Paid  his 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         59 

bill  the  other  day  without  saying  a  word  about 
it.  Paid  it  in  gold,  —  had  a  great  heap  of  twen- 
ty-dollar pieces.  Hires  her  best  room.  Thinks  he 
is  a  very  nice  little  man,  but  lives  dreadful  lonely 
up  in  his  chamber.  Wants  the  care  of  some  ca- 
pable nuss.  Never  pitied  anybody  more  in  her 
life,  —  never  see  a  more  interestin'  person. 

My  intention  was,   when    I   began    making 

these  notes,  to  let  them  consist  principally  of  con- 
versations between  myself  and  the  other  boarders. 
So  tlrey  will,  very  probably  ;  but  my  curiosity  is 
excited  about  this  little  boarder  of  ours,  and  my 
reader  must  not  be  disappointed,  if  I  sometimes  in- 
terrupt a  discussion  to  give  an  account  of  whatever 
fact  or  traits  I  may  discover  about  him.  It  so  hap- 
pens that  his  room  is  next  to  mine,  and  I  have 
the  opportunity  of  observing  many  of  his  ways 
without  any  active  movements  of  curiosity.  That 
his  room  contains  heavy  furniture,  that  he  is  a 
restless  little  body  and  is  apt  to  be  up  late,  that 
he  talks  to  himself,  and  keeps  mainly  to  himself, 
is  nearly  all  I  have  yet  found  out. 

One  curious  circumstance  happened  lately,  which 
I  mention  without  drawing  an  absolute  inference. 
—  Being  at  the  studio  of  a  sculptor  with  whom 
I  am  acquainted,  the  other  day,  I  saw  a  remark- 
able cast  of  a  left  arm.  On  my  asking  where  the 
model  came  from,  he  said  it  was  taken  direct  from 
the  arm  of  a  deformed  person,  who   had   employed 


60    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

one  of  the  Italian  moulders  to  make  the  cast.  It 
was  a  curious  case,  it  should  seem,  of  one  beau- 
tiful limb  upon  a  frame  otherwise  singularly  im- 
perfect. —  I  have  repeatedly  noticed  this  little 
gentleman's  use  of  his  left  arm.  Can  he  have 
furnished  the  model  I  saw  at  the  sculptor's  ? 

So  we  are  to  have  a  new  boarder  to-mor- 
row. I  hope  there  will  be  something  pretty  and 
pleasing  about  her.  A  woman  with  a  creamy 
voice,  and  finished  in  alto  rilievo,  would  be  a  va- 
riety in  the  boarding-house,  —  a  little  more  mar- 
row and  a  little  less  sinew  than  our  landlady  and 
her  daughter  and  the  bombazine-clad  female,  all 
of  whom  are  of  the  turkey-drumstick  style  of  or- 
ganization. I  don't  mean  that  these  are  our  only 
female  companions ;  but  the  rest  being  conversa- 
tional non-combatants,  mostly  still,  sad  feeders, 
who  take  in  their  food  as  locomotives  take  in 
wood  and  water,  and  then  wither  away  from  the 
table  like  blossoms  that  never  come  to  fruit,  I 
have  not  yet  referred  to  them  as  individuals. 

I  wonder  what  kind  of  young  person  we  shall 
see  in  that  empty  chair  to-morrow! 

I  read  this  song  to  the  boarders  after  break- 


fast   the    other    morning.       It  was  written   for    our 
fellows ;  —  you  know  who  they  are,  of  course. 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.  61 


THE   BOYS. 

Has  there  any  old  fellow  got  mixed  with  the  boys? 
If  there  has,  take  him  out,  without  making  a  noise  ! 
Hang  the  Almanac's  cheat  and  the  Catalogue's  spite  ! 
Old  Time  is  a  liar  !     We're   twenty  to-night ! 

We're  twenty  !     We're  twenty  !     Who  says  we  are  more  ? 
He's  tipsy,  —  young  jackanapes  !  —  show  him  the  door  !  — ■ 
"  Gray  temples  at  twenty?"  —  Yes!  white,  if  we  please; 
Where  the  snow-flakes  fall  thickest  there's   nothing  can  freeze  1 

Was  it  snowing  I  spoke  of?     Excuse  the  mistake! 
Look  close,  —  you  will  see  not  a  sign  of  a  flake ; 
We  want  some  new  garlands  for  those  we  have  shed, — 
And  these  are  white  roses  in  place  of  the  red  ! 

We've  a  trick,  we  young  fellows,  you  may  have  been  told, 
Of  talking  (in  public)  as  if  we  were  old  ;  — 
That  boy  we  call  "  Doctor,"  and  this  we  call  "  Judge ; "  — 
It's  a  neat  little  fiction,  —  of  course  it's  all  fudge. 

That  fellow's  the  "  Speaker,"  —  the  one  on  the  right ; 
'•  Mr.  Mayor,"  my  young  one,  how  are  you  to-night  ? 
That's  our  "  Member  of  Congress,"  we  say  when  we  chaff; 
There's  the   "Reverend"   What's   his   name?  —  don't  make  me 
lau^h  ! 

That  boy  with  the  grave  mathematical  look 
Made  believe  he  had  written  a  wonderful  book, 
And  the  Royal   BociETY  thought  it  was  true! 
So  they  cheee  him  right   in  ;    a  good  joke  it  was,  too ! 


62  THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

There's  a  boy,  —  we  pretend,  —  with  a  three-decker-brain, 

That  could  harness  a  team  with  a  logical  chain ; 

When  he  spoke  for  our  manhood  in  syllabled  fire, 

We  called  him  "  The  Justice,"  —  but  now  he's  "  The  Squire." 

And  there's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith,  — 
Fate  tried  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith, — 
But  he  shouted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free, — 
—  Just  read  on  his  medal, —  "My  country,  —  of  thee!" 

You  hear  that  boy  laughing  ?  —  you  think  he's  all  fun,  — 
But  the  angels  laugh,  too,  at  the  good  he  has  done ; 
The  children  laugh  loud  as  they  troop  to  his  call, 
And  the  noor  man  that  knows  him  laughs  loudest  of  all ! 

Yes,  we're  boys,  —  always  playing  with  tongue  or  with  pen, — 
And  I  sometimes  have  asked,  —  Shall  we  ever  be  men  ? 
Shall  we  always  be  youthful  and  laughing  and  gay, 
Till  the  last  dear  companion  drops  smiling  away  ? 

Then  here's  to  our  boyhood,  its  gold  and  its  gray  ! 
The  stars  of  its  Winter,  the  dews  of  its  May ! 
And  when  we  have  done  with  our  life-lasting  toys, 
Dear  Father,  take  care  of  thy  children,  the  Boys  ! 


III. 

[  The  Professor  talks   with  the  Reader.     He  tells  a 
Young  GirPs  Story.] 

When  the  elements  that  went  to  the  making  of 
the  first   man,  father   of  mankind,  had    been  with- 


THK   PROFESSOB    AT   TllK   BBEAKFA8T-TABLE.         68 

drawn  from  the  world  of  unconscious  matter,  the 
balance  of  creation  was  disturbed.  The  materials 
that  £0  to  the  making  of  one  woman  were  set 
free  by  the  abstraction  from  inanimate  nature  of 
one  man's-worth  of  masculine  constituents.  These 
combined  to  make  our  first  mother,  by  a  logical 
necessity  involved  in  the  previous  creation  of  our 
common  father.  All  this,  mythically,  illustratively, 
and  by  no  means  doctrinally  or  polemically. 

The  man  implies  the  woman,  you  will  under- 
stand. The  excellent  gentleman  whom  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  setting  right  in  a  trifling  matter  a  few 
weeks  ago  believes  in  the  frequent  occurrence  of 
miracles  at  the  present  day.  So  do  I.  I  believe, 
if  you  could  find  an  uninhabited  coral-reef  island, 
in  the  middle  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  with  plenty 
of  cocoa-palms  and  bread-fruit  on  it,  and  put  a 
handsome  young  fellow,  like  our  Marylander,  ashore 
upon  it,  if  you  touched  there  a  year  afterwards, 
you  would  find  him  walking  under  the  palm-trees 
arm  in  arm  with  a  pretty  woman. 

Where  would  she  come  from? 

Oh,  that's  the  miracle  ! 

1  was  just  as  certain,  when  I  saw  that  fine, 

high-colored  youth  at  the  upper  right-hand  corner 
of  our  table,  that  there  would  appear  some  fitting 
feminine  counterpart  to  him,  as  if  I  had  been  a 
clairvoyant,  seeing  it  all  beforehand. 

1  have  a  fancy  that    those    Marylanders   are 


64         THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

just  about  near  enough  to  the  sun  to  ripen  well. — 
How  some  of  us  fellows  remember  Joe  and  Harry, 
Baltimoreans,  both !  Joe,  with  his  cheeks  like 
lady-apples,  and  his  eyes  like  black-heart  cherries, 
and  his  teeth  like  the  whiteness  of  the  flesh  of 
cocoa-nuts,  and  his  laugh  that  set  the  chandelier- 
drops  rattling  overhead,  as  we  sat  at  our  sparkling 
banquets  in  those  gay  times !  Harry,  champion, 
by  acclamation,  of  the  College  heavy-weights, 
broad-shouldered,  bull-necked,  square-jawed,  six  feet 
and  trimmings,  a  little  science,  lots  of  pluck,  good- 
natured  as  a  steer  in  peace,  formidable  as  a  red- 
eyed  bison  in  the  crack  of  hand-to-hand  battle! 
Who  forgets  the  great  muster-day,  and  the  colli- 
sion of  the  classic  with  the  democratic  forces? 
The  huge  butcher,  fifteen  stone,  —  two  hundred 
and  ten  pounds,  —  good  weight,  —  steps  out  like 
Telamonian  Ajax,  defiant.  No  words  from  Harry, 
the  Baltimorean,  —  one  of  the  quiet  sort,  who 
strike  first,  and  do  the  talking,  if  there  is  any,  af- 
terwards. No  words,  but,  in  the  place  thereof,  a 
clean,  straight,  hard  hit,  which  took  effect  with  a 
spank  like  the  explosion  of  a  percussion-cap,  knock- 
ing the  slayer  of  beeves  down  a  sand-bank,  —  fol- 
lowed, alas  !  by  the  too  impetuous  youth,  so  that 
both  rolled  down  together,  and  the  conflict  termi- 
nated in  one  of  those  inglorious  and  inevitable 
Yankee  clinches,  followed  by  a  general  melee,  which 
make  our  native  fistic  encounters  so  different  from 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         05 

such  admirably-ordered  contests  as  that  which  I 
oiwc  saw  at  an  English  fair,  where  everything  was 
done  decently  and  in  order,  and  the  fight  began 
and  ended  with  such  grave  propriety,  that  a  sport- 
ing parson  need  hardly  have  hesitated  to  open  it 
with  a  devout  petition,  and,  after  it  was  over,  dis- 
miss the  ring  with  a  benediction. 

I  can't  help  telling  one  more  story  about  this 
great  field-day,  though  it  is  the  most  wTanton  and 
irrelevant  digression.  But  all  of  us  have  a  little 
speck  of  fight  underneath  our  peace  and  good-will 
to  men,  —  just  a  speck,  for  revolutions  and  great 
emergencies,  you  know, —  so  that  we  should  not 
submit  to  be  trodden  quite  fiat  by  the  first  heavy- 
heeled  aggressor  that  came  along.  You  can  tell 
a  portrait  from  an  ideal  head,  I  suppose,  and  a 
true  story  from  one  spun  out  of  the  writer's  inven- 
tion.    See  whether  this  sounds  true  or  not. 

Admiral  Sir  Isaac  Coffin  sent  out  two  fine 
blood-horses,  Barefoot  and  Serab  by  name,  to 
Massachusetts,  something  before  the  time  I  am 
talking  of.  With  them  came  a  Yorkshire  groom, 
a  stocky  little  fellowT,  in  velvet  breeches,  who  made 
that  mysterious  hissing  noise,  traditionary  in  Eng- 
lish stables,  when  he  rubbed  down  the  silken- 
skinned  racers,  in  great  perfection.  After  the  sol- 
diers had  come  from  the  muster-field,  and  some 
of  the  companies  were  on  the  village-common, 
there    was    still    some    skirmishing   between    a    few 


66         THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

individuals  who  had  not  had  the  fight  taken  out 
of  them.  The  little  Yorkshire  groom  thought  he 
must  serve  out  somebody.  So  he  threw  him- 
self into  an  approved  scientific  attitude,  and,  in 
brief,  emphatic  language,  expressed  his  urgent 
anxiety  to  accommodate  any  classical  young  gen- 
tleman who  chose  to  consider  himself  a  candidate 
for  his  attentions.  I  don't  suppose  there  were 
many  of  the  college  boys  that  would  have  been  a 
match  for  him  in  the  art  which  Englishmen  know 
so  much  more  of  than  Americans,  for  the  most 
part.  However,  one  of  the  Sophomores,  a  very 
quiet,  peaceable  fellow,  just  stepped  out  of  the 
crowd,  and,  running  straight  at  the  groom,  as  he 
stood  there,  sparring  away,  struck  him  with  the 
sole  of  his  foot,  a  straight  blow,  as  if  it  had  been 
with  his  fist,  —  and  knocked  him  heels  over  head 
and  senseless,  so  that  he  had  to  be  carried  off 
from  the  field.  This  ugly  way  of  hitting  is  the 
great  trick  of  the  French  savate,  which  is  not 
commonly  thought  able  to  stand  its  ground  against 
English  pugilistic  science. —  These  are  old  recollec- 
tions, with  not  much  to  recommend  them,  except, 
perhaps,  a  dash  of  life,  which  may  be  worth  a  lit- 
tle something. 

The  young  Marylander  brought  them  all  up, 
you  may  remember.  He  recalled  to  my  mind 
those  two  splendid  pieces  of  vitality  I  told  you 
of.     Both   have   been   long   dead.     How   often   we 


THE   PROFKSSOB  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         G7 

see  these  great  red  flaring  flambeaux  of  life 
blown  out,  as  it  were,  by  a  puff  of  wind,  — 
and  the  little,  single-wicked  night-lamp  of  being, 
which  some  white-faced  and  attenuated  invalid 
shades  with  trembling  fingers,  flickering  on  while 
they  go  out  one  after  another,  until  its  glimmer  is 
all  that  is  left  to  us  of  the  generation  it  belonged  to! 

I  told  you  that  I  was  perfectly  sure,  beforehand, 
we  should  find  some  pleasing  girlish  or  womanly 
shape  to  fill  the  blank  at  our  table  and  match  the 
dark-haired  youth  at  the  upper  corner. 

There  she  sits,  at  the  very  opposite  corner,  just 
as  far  off  as  accident  could  put  her  from  this 
handsome  fellow,  by  whose  side  she  ought,  of 
course,  to  be  sitting.  One  of  the  "  positive  " 
blondes,  as  my  friend,  you  may  remember,  used 
to  call  them.  Tawny-haired,  amber-eyed,  full- 
throated,  skin  as  white  as  a  blanched  almond. 
Looks  dreamy  to  me,  not  self-conscious,  though  a 
black  ribbon  round  her  neck  sets  it  off  as  a  Ma- 
rie-Antoinette's diamond-necklace  could  not  do. 
So  in  her  dress,  there  is  a  harmony  of  tints  that 
looks  as  if  an  artist  had  run  his  eye  over  her  and 
given  a  hint  or  two  like  the  finishing  touch  to  a 
picture.  I  cant  help  being  struck  with  her,  for 
she  is  at  once  rounded  and  fine  in  feature,  look- 
calm,  as  blondes  are  apt  to,  and  as  if  she  might 
run  wild,  if  she  were  trifled  with.  —  It  is  just  ae  1 
knew  it  would  be,  —  and  anybody  can  see  that  our 


68         THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

young  Marylander  will  be  dead  in  love  with  her 
in  a  week. 

Then  if  that  little  man  would  only  turn  out 
immensely  rich  and  have  the  good -nature  to  die 
and  leave  them  all  his  money,  it  would  be  as 
nice    as    a  three-volume  novel. 

The  Little  Gentleman  is  in  a  flurry,  I  suspect, 
with  the  excitement  of  having  such  a  charming 
neighbor  next  him.  I  judge  so  mainly  by  his  silence 
and  by  a  certain  rapt  and  serious  look  on  his  face, 
as  if  he  were  thinking  of  something  that  had  hap- 
pened, or  that  might  happen,  or  that  ought  to 
happen,  —  or  how  beautiful  her  young  life  looked, 
or  how  hardly  Nature  had  dealt  with  him,  or 
something  which  struck  him  silent,  at  any  rate.  I 
made  several  conversational  openings  for  him,  but 
he  did  not  fire  up  as  he  often  does.  I  even  went 
so  far  as  to  indulge  in  a  fling  at  the  State  House, 
which,  as  we  all  know,  is  in  truth  a  very  impos- 
ing structure,  covering  less  ground  than  St.  Peter's, 
but  of  similar  general  effect.  The  little  man 
looked  up,  but  did  not  reply  to  my  taunt.  He 
said  to  the  young  lady,  however,  that  the  State 
House  was  the  Parthenon  of  our  Acropolis,  which 
seemed  to  please  her,  for  she  smiled,  and  he  red- 
dened a  little,  —  so  I  thought.  I  don't  think  it 
right  to  watch  persons  who  are  the  subjects  of 
special  infirmity, — but  we  all  do  it. 

I  see  that  they  have  crowded  the  chairs  a  little 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         69 

at  that  end  of  the  table,  to  make  room  for  an- 
other new-comer  of  the  lady  sort.  A  well-mounted, 
middle-aged  preparation,  wearing  her  hair  without 
a  cap,  —  pretty  wide  in  the  parting,  though, — 
contours  vaguely  hinted,  —  features  very  quiet, — 
-ays  little  as  yet,  but  seems  to  keep  her  eye  on 
the  young  lady,  as  if  having  some  responsibility 
for  her. 

My  record  is  a  blank  for  some  days  after  this. 
In  the  mean  time  I  have  contrived  to  make  out 
the  person  and  the  story  of  our  young  lady,  who, 
according  to  appearances,  ought  to  furnish  us  a 
heroine  for  a  boarding-house  romance  before  a 
year  is  out.  It  is  very  curious  that  she  should 
prove  connected  with  a  person  many  of  us  have 
heard  of.  Yet,  curious  as  it  is,  I  have  been  a 
hundred  times  struck  with  the  circumstance  that 
the  most  remote  facts  are  constantly  striking  each 
other ;  just  as  vessels  starting  from  ports  thousands 
of  miles  apart  pass  close  to  each  other  in  the 
naked  breadth  of  the  ocean,  nay,  sometimes  even 
touch,  in  the  dark,  with  a  crack  of  timbers,  a 
gurgling  of  water,  a  cry  of  startled  sleepers,  —  a 
cry  mysteriously  echoed  in  warning  dreams,  as  the 
wife  of  some  Gloucester  fisherman,  some  coasting 
skipper,  wakes  with  a  shriek,  calls  the  name  of 
her  husband,  and  sinks  back  to  uneasy  slumbers 
upon  her  lonely  pillow,  —  a  widow. 


70    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Oh,  these  mysterious  meetings!  Leaving  all  the 
vague,  waste,  endless  spaces  of  the  washing  des- 
ert, the  ocean-steamer  and  the  fishing-smack  sail 
straight  towards  each  other  as  if  they  ran  in 
grooves  ploughed  for  them  in  the  waters  from  the 
beginning  of  creation !  Not  only  things  and  events, 
but  our  own  thoughts,  are  so  full  of  these  surprises, 
that,  if  there  were  a  reader  in  my  parish  who  did 
not  recognize  the  familiar  occurrence  of  what  I  am 
now  going  to  mention,  I  should  think  it  a  case  for 
the  missionaries  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation 
of  Intelligence  among  the   Comfortable   Classes. 

There  are  about  as  many  twins  in  the  births  of 
thought  as  of  children.  For  the  first  time  in  your 
lives  you  learn  some  fact  or  come  across  some 
idea.  Within  an  hour,  a  day,  a  week,  that  same 
fact  or  idea  strikes  you  from  another  quarter.  It 
seems  as  if  it  had  passed  into  space  and  bounded 
back  upon  you  as  an  echo  from  the  blank  wall 
that  shuts  in  the  world  of  thought.  Yet  no  pos- 
sible connection  exists  between  the  two  channels 
by  which  the  thought  or  the  fact  arrived.  Let  me 
give  an  infinitesimal  illustration. 

One  of  the  Boys  mentioned,  the  other  evening, 
in  the  course  of  a  very  pleasant  poem  he  read  us, 
a  little  trick  of  the  Commons  table-boarders,  which 
I,  nourished  at  the  parental  board,  had  never  heard 
of.  Young  fellows  being  always  hungry Al- 
low me   to    stop   dead-short,  in    order   to    utter   an 


Till:   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.         71 

aphorism  which  has  been  forming  itself  in  one  of 
the  blank  interior  spaces  of  my  intelligence,  like  a 
cr\ >tal  in  the  cavity  of  a  geode. 

Aphorism  by  the  Professor. 

In  order  to  know  whether  a  human  being  is 
young  or  old,  offer  it  food  of  different  kinds  at 
short  intervals.  If  young,  it  will  eat  anything  at 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  If  old,  it  observes 
stated  periods,  and  you  might  as  well  attempt  to 
regulate  the  time  of  high-water  to  suit  a  fishing- 
party  as  to  change  these  periods. 

The  crucial  experiment  is  this.  Offer  a  bulky 
and  boggy  bun  to  the  suspected  individual  just 
ten  minutes  before  dinner.  If  this  is  eagerly  ac- 
cepted and  devoured,  the  fact  of  youth  is  estab- 
lished. If  the  subject  of  the  question  starts  back 
and  expresses  surprise  and  incredulity,  as  if  you 
could  not  possibly  be  in  earnest,  the  fact  of  matu- 
rity is  no  less  clear. 

Excuse  me,  —  I  return   to   my  story  of  the 

Commons-table.  —  Young  fellows  being  always 
hungry,  and  tea  and  dry  toast  being  the  meagre 
fare  of  the  evening  meal,  it  was  a  trick  of  some 
of  the  Boys  to  impale  a  slice  of  meat  upon  a  fork, 
at  dinner-time,  and  stick  the  fork  holding  it  be- 
neath the  table,  so  that  they  could  get  it  at  tea- 
time.     The  dragons  that  guarded  this  table  of  the 


i'2         THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Hesperides  found  out  the  trick  at  last,  and  kept 
a  sharp  look-out  for  missing  forks:  —  they  knew 
where  to  find  one.  if  it  was  not  in  its  place. — 
Now  the  odd  thing  was.  that,  after  waiting  so 
many  years  to  hear  of  this  college  trick.  I  should 
hear  it  mentioned  a  second  time  within  the  same 
twenty-four  hours  by  a  college  youth  of  the  pres- 
ent generation.  Strange,  but  true.  And  so  it  has 
happened  to  me  and  to  every  person,  often  and 
often,  to  be  hit  in  rapid  succession  by  these  twin- 
ned facts  or  thoughts,  as  if  they  were  linked  like 
chain-shot. 

I  was  going  to  leave  the  simple  reader  to  won- 
der over  this,  taking  it  as  an  unexplained  marvel. 
I  think,  however.  I  will  turn  over  a  furrow  of  sub- 
soil in  it. —  The  explanation  is,  of  course,  that  in 
a  great  many  thoughts  there  must  be  a  few  coin- 
cidences, and  these  instantly  arrest  our  attention. 
Now  we  shall  probably  never  have  the  least  idea 
of  the  enormous  number  of  impressions  which 
pass  through  our  consciousness,  until  in  some  fu- 
ture life  we  see  the  photographic  record  of  our 
thoughts  and  the  stereoscopic  picture  of  our  ac- 
tions. There  go  more  pieces  to  make  up  a  con- 
scious life  or  a  living  body  than  you  think  for. 
"Why,  some  of  you  were  surprised  when  a  friend 
of  mine  told  you  there  were  fifty-eight  separate 
pieces  in  a  fiddle.  How  many  "  swimming  glands ?' 
—  solid,  organized,  regularly  formed,  rounded  disk-, 


THE   PRO!      5S      .    AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  «o 

taking  an  active  part  in  all  your  vital  proce- 
pan  and  parcel,  each  one  of  them,  of  your  corpo- 
real beins:  —  do  you  suppose  are  whirled  along, 
like  pebbles  in  a  stream,  with  the  blood  which 
warms  your  frame  and  colors  your  cheeks  ?  —  A 
noted  German  physiologist  spread  out  a  minute 
drop  of  blood,  under  the  microscope,  in  narrow 
.ks.  and  counted  the  globules,  and  then  made 
a  calculation.  The  counting  by  the  micrometer 
took  him  a  week. —  You  have,  my  full-grown 
friend,  of  these  little  couriers  in  crimson  or  scarlet 
livery,  running  on  your  vital  errands  day  and 
night  as  long  as  you  live,  sixty-five  billions,  five 
hundred  and  seventy  thousand  millions.  Errors 
excepted.  —  Did  I  hear  some  gentleman  say, 
u  Doubted  ?  "  —  I  am  the  Professor.  I  sit  in  my 
chair  with  a  petard  under  it  that  will  blow  me 
through  the  sky-light  of  my  lecture-room,  if  I  do 
know  what  I  am  talking  about  and  whom  I 
am  quo" 

Nov  leai    friends,    who    are    putting 

hands  to  your  foreheads,  and  saying  to  yourselves 
that  you  feel  a  little  confused,  as  if  you  had  been 
waltzing  until  things  began  to  whirl  slightly  round 
you,  is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  clearly  appre- 
hend the  exact  connection  of  all  that  I  have  been 
:ig.  and  its  bearing  on  what  is  now  to  come  ? 
Listen,  then.  The  number  of  these  living  ele- 
ments   in    our   bodies    illustrates    the    incalculable 

4 


74         THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

multitude  of  our  thoughts;  the  number  of  our 
thoughts  accounts  for  those  frequent  coincidences 
spoken  of ;  these  coincidences  in  the  world  of 
thought  illustrate  those  which  we  constantly  ob- 
serve in  the  world  of  outward  events,  of  which 
the  presence  of  the  young  girl  now  at  our  table, 
and  proving  to  be  the  daughter  of  an  old  ac- 
quaintance some  of  us  may  remember,  is  the 
special  example  which  led  me  through  this  laby- 
rinth of  reflections,  and  finally  lands  me  at  the 
commencement  of  this  young  girl's  story,  which, 
as  I  said,  I  have  found  the  time  and  felt  the  in- 
terest to  learn  something  of,  and  which  I  think  I 
can  tell  without  wronging  the  unconscious  subject 
of  my  brief  delineation. 

mis. 

You  remember,  perhaps,  in  some  papers  pub- 
lished awhile  ago,  an  odd  poem  written  by  an  old 
Latin  tutor?  He  brought  up  at  the  verb  amo,  I 
love,  as  all  of  us  do,  and  by  and  by  Nature  open- 
ed her  great  living  dictionary  for  him  at  the  word 
fdia,  a  daughter.  The  poor  man  was  greatly  per- 
plexed in  choosing  a  name  for  her.  Lucretia  and 
Virginia  were  the  first  that  he  thought  of;  but 
then  came  up  those  pictured  stories  of  Titus 
Livius,  which  he  could  never  read  without  crying, 
though  he  had  read  them  a  hundred  times. 

—  Lucretia    sending   for   her   husband    and    her 


Till]   PBOFESSOB  AT  Ti;K   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.         7.") 

father,  each  to  bring  one  friend  with  him,  and 
awaiting  them  in  her  chamber.  To  them  her 
wrongs  briefly.  Let  them  see  to  the  wretch,  — 
she  will  take  care  of  herself.  Then  the  hidden 
knife  flashes  out  and  sinks  into  her  heart.  She 
slides  from  her  seat,  and  falls  dying.  "  Her  hus- 
band and  her  father  cry  aloud."  —  No,  —  not  Lu- 
cretia. 

—  Yirginius,  —  a  brown  old  soldier,  father  of 
a  nice  girl.  She  engaged  to  a  very  promising 
young  man.  Decemvir  Appius  takes  a  violent 
fancy  to  her,  —  must  have  her  at  any  rate.  Hires 
a  lawyer  to  present  the  arguments  in  favor  of  the 
view  that  she  was  another  man's  daughter.  There 
used  to  be  lawyers  in  Rome  that  would  do  such 
things.  —  All  right.  There  are  two  sides  to  every- 
thing. Audi  alteram  partem.  The  legal  gentle- 
man has  no  opinion,  —  he  only  states  the  evi- 
dence.—  A  doubtful  case.  Let  the  young  lady  be 
under  the  protection  of  the  Honorable  Decemvir 
until  it  can  be  looked  up  thoroughly. —  Father 
thinks  it  best,  on  the  whole,  to  give  in.  Will  ex- 
plain the  matter,  if  the  young  lady  and  her  maid 
will  step  this  way.  That  is  the  explanation,  —  a 
stab  with  a  butcher's  knife,  snatched  from  a  stall, 
meant  for  other  lambs  than  this  poor  bleeding  Vir- 
ginia ! 

The  old  man  thought  over  the  story.  Then  he 
must   have   one  look   at  the  original.     So  he   took 


76          THE   PROFESSOR  AT  T.HE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

down  the  first  volume  and  read  it  over.  When 
he  came  to  that  part  where  it  tells  how  the  young 
gentleman  she  was  engaged  to  and  a  friend  of  his 
took  up  the  poor  girl's  bloodless  shape  and  carried 
it  through  the  street,  and  how  all  the  women  fol- 
lowed, wailing,  and  asking  if  that  was  what  their 
daughters  were  coming  to,  —  if  that  was  what  they 
were  to  get  for  being  good  girls, — he  melted  down 
into  his  accustomed  tears  of  pity  and  grief,  and, 
through  them  all,  of  delight  at  the  charming  Latin 
of  the  narrative.  But  it  was  impossible  to  call 
his  child  Virginia.  He  could  never  look  at  her 
without  thinking  she  had  a  knife  sticking  in  her 
bosom. 

Dido  would  be  a  good  name,  and  a  fresh  one. 
She  was  a  queen,  and  the  founder  of  a  great  city. 
Her  story  had  been  immortalized  by  the  greatest 
of  poets,  —  for  the  old  Latin  tutor  clove  to  "  Vir- 
gilius  Maro,"  as  he  called  him,  as  closely  as  ever 
Dante  did  in  his  memorable  journey.  So  he  took 
down  his  Virgil,  —  it  was  the  smooth-leafed,  open- 
lettered  quarto  of  Baskerville,  —  and  began  read- 
ing the  loves  and  mishaps  of  Dido.  It  wouldn't 
do.  A  lady  who  had  not  learned  discretion  by  ex- 
perience, and  came  to  an  evil  end.  He  shook  his 
head,  as  he  sadly  repeated, 

" misera  ante  diem,  subitoque  accensa  furore ;  " 

but  when  he  came  to  the  lines, 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.        77 

"Ergo  Iris  croceis  pel  ceelam  roscida  pennis 
Mille  trahens  varioa  adverso  Sole  colores," 

he  jumped  up  with  a  great  exclamation,  which  the 
particular  recording  angel  who  heard  it  pretended 
not  to  understand,  or  it  might  have  gone  hard 
wirli  the  Latin  tutor  some  time  or  other. 

"  Iris  shall  be  her  name!"  —  he  said.  So  her 
name  was  Iris. 

The  natural  end  of  a  tutor  is  to  perish  by 

starvation.  It  is  only  a  question  of  time,  just  as 
with  the  burning  of  college  libraries.  These  all 
burn  up  sooner  or  later,  provided  they  are  not 
housed  in  brick  or  stone  and  iron.  I  don't  mean 
that  you  will  see  in  the  registry  of  deaths  that 
this  or  that  particular  tutor  died  of  well-marked, 
uncomplicated  starvation.  They  may,  even,  in  ex- 
treme cases,  be  carried  off  by  a  thin,  watery  kind 
of  apoplexy,  which  sounds  very  well  in  the  returns, 
but  means  little  to  those  who  know  that  it  is 
only  debility  settling  on  the  head.  Generally,  how- 
ever, they  fade  and  waste  away  under  various  pre- 
texts,—  calling  it  dyspepsia,  consumption,  and  so 
on,  to  put  a  decent  appearance  upon  the  case  and 
keep  up  the  credit  of  the  family  and  the  institu- 
tion where  they  have  passed  through  the  succes- 
sive stages  of   inanition. 

In  some  cases  it  takes  a  great  many  year-  to 
kill  a  tutor  by  the  process  in  question.  You  see, 
they   do   get  food  and   clothes   and   fuel,  in   appre- 


78          THE   PROFESSOK  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

ciable  quantities,  such  as  they  are.  You  will  even 
notice  rows  of  books  in  their  rooms,  and  a  pic- 
ture or  two,  —  things  that  look  as  if  they  had 
surplus  money  ;  but  these  superfluities  are  the 
water  of  crystallization  to  scholars,  and  you  can 
never  get  them  away  till  the  poor  fellows  effloresce 
into  dust.  Do  not  be  deceived.  The  tutor  break- 
fasts on  coffee  made  of  beans,  edulcorated  with 
milk  watered  to  the  verge  of  transparency ;  his 
mutton  is  tough  and  elastic,  up  to  the  moment 
when  it  becomes  tired  out  and  tasteless  ;  his  coal 
is  a  sullen,  sulphurous  anthracite,  which  rusts  into 
ashes,  rather  than  burns,  in  the  shallow  grate ;  his 
flimsy  broadcloth  is  too  thin  for  winter  and  too 
thick  for  summer.  The  greedy  lungs  of  fifty 
hot-blooded  boys  suck  the  oxygen  from  the  air 
he  breathes  in  his  recitation-room.  In  short,  he 
undergoes  a  process  of  gentle  and  gradual  starva- 
tion. 

The   mother   of  little    Iris   was    not    called 

Electra,  like  hers  of  the  old  story,  neither  was  her 
grandfather  Oceanus.  Her  blood-name,  which  she 
gave  away  with  her  heart  to  the  Latin  tutor,  was 
a  plain  old  English  one,  and  her  water-name  was 
Hannah,  beautiful  as  recalling  the  mother  of  Sam- 
uel, and  admirable  as  reading  equally  well  from 
the  initial  letter  forwards  and  from  the  terminal 
letter  backwards.  The  poor  lady,  seated  with  her 
companion   at  the  chess-board  of  matrimony,   had 


THE  PBOFESSOB   AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         70 

but  just  pushed  forward  her  one  little  white  pawn 
upon  an  empty  square,  when  the  Black  Knight, 
that  cares  nothing  for  castles  or  kings  or  queens, 
swooped  down  upon  her  and  swept  her  from  the 
larger  board  of  life. 

The  old  Latin  tutor  put  a  modest  blue  stone  at 
the  head  of  his  late  companion,  with  her  name 
and  age  and  Ekeu !  upon  it,  —  a  smaller  one  at 
her  feet,  with  initials  ;  and  left  her  by  herself, 
to  be  rained  and  snowed  on,  —  which  is  a  hard 
thing  to  do  for  those  whom  we  have  cherished 
tenderly. 

About  the  time  that  the  lichens,  falling  on  the 
stone,  like  drops  of  water,  had  spread  into  fair,  round 
rosettes,  the  tutor  had  starved  into  a  slight  cough. 
Then  he  began  to  draw  the  buckle  of  his  black 
pantaloons  a  little  tighter,  and  took  in  another 
reef  in  his  never-ample  waistcoat.  His  temples 
got  a  little  hollow,  and  the  contrasts  of  color  in 
his  cheeks  more  vivid  than  of  old.  After  a  while 
his  walks  fatigued  him,  and  he  was  tired,  and 
breathed  hard  after  going  up  a  flight  or  two  of 
stairs.  Then  came  on  other  marks  of  inward  trou- 
ble and  general  waste,  which  he  spoke  of  to  his 
physician  as  peculiar,  and  doubtless  owing  to  ac- 
cidental causes ;  to  all  which  the  doctor  listened 
with  deference,  as  if  it  had  not  been  the  old  story 
that  one  in  five  or  six  of  mankind  in  temperate 
climates    tells,  or    has    told   for    him,  as   if   it   were 


80         THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

something  new.  As  the  doctor  went  out,  he  said 
to  himself,  — "  On  the  rail  at  last.  Accommoda- 
tion train.  A  good  many  stops,  but  will  get  to 
the  station  by  and  by."  So  the  doctor  wrote  a 
recipe  with  the  astrological  sign  of  Jupiter  before 
it,  (just  as  your  own  physician  does,  inestimable 
reader,  as  you  will  see,  if  you  look  at  his  next 
prescription,)  and  departed,  saying  he  would  look 
in  occasionally.  After  this,  the  Latin  tutor  began 
the  usual  course  of  "  getting  better,"  until  he  got 
so  much  better  that  his  face  was  very  sharp,  and 
when  he  smiled,  three  crescent  lines  showed  at 
each  side  of  his  lips,  and  when  he  spoke,  it  was 
in  a  muffled  whisper,  and  the  white  of  his  eye 
glistened   as   pearly    as   the   purest   porcelain,  —  so 

much  better,  that  he  hoped  —  by  spring  —  he 

might    be    able — to  —  attend to    his    class 

again.  —  But  he  was  recommended  not  to  expose 
himself,  and  so  kept  his  chamber,  and  occasionally, 
not  having  anything  to  do,  his  bed.  The  unmar- 
ried sister  with  whom  he  lived  took  care  of  him ; 
and  the  child,  now  old  enough  to  be  manageable, 
and  even  useful  in  trifling  offices,  sat  in  the  cham- 
ber, or  played  about. 

Things  could  not  go  on  so  forever,  of  course. 
One  morning  his  face  was  sunken  and  his  hands 
were  very,  very  cold.  He  was  "  better,"  he  whis- 
pered, but  sadly  and  faintly.  After  a  while  he 
grew  restless   and   seemed  a  little  wandering.     His 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.         81 

mind  ran  on  his  classics,  and  fell  back  on  the  Latin 
grammar. 

"Iris!"  he  said,  —  "filiola  mea!" —  The  child 
knew  this  meant  my  dear  little  daughter  as  well 
as  if  it  had  been  English.  —  "Rainbow!"  —  for  he 
would  translate  her  name  at  times,  — "  come  to 
me,  —  venV —  and  his  lips  went  on  automatically, 
and  murmured,  "  vel  venito  !  "  —  The  child  came 
and  sat  by  his  bedside  and  took  his  hand,  which 
she  could  not  warm,  but  which  shot  its  rays  of 
cold  all  through  her  slender  frame.  But  there 
she  sat,  looking  steadily  at  him.  Presently  he 
opened  his  lips  feebly,  and  whispered,  "  Moribun- 
dus"  She  did  not  know  what  that  meant,  but 
she  saw  that  there  was  something  new  and  sad. 
So  she  began  to  cry ;  but  presently  remembering 
an  old  book  that  seemed  to  comfort  him  at  times, 
got  up  and  brought  a  Bible  in  the  Latin  version, 
called  the  Vulgate.  "  Open  it,"  he  said,  — "  I  will 
read,  —  seg-nius  irritant,  —  don't  put  the  light  out, 
—  ah!  hoeret  lateri, —  I  am  going,  —  vale,  vale, 
vale,  good-bye,  good-bye, — the    Lord   take   care  of 

my   child!  —  Domine,    audi vel   audito  ! '  "     His 

face  whitened  suddenly,  and  he  lay  still,  with 
open  eyes  and  mouth.  He  had  taken  his  last 
degree. 

Little  Miss  Iris  could  not  be  said  to  begin 

life  with  a  very  brilliant  rainbow  over  her,  in  a 
worldly    point    of    view.      A   limited    wardrobe     of 

4* 


82         THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

man's  attire,  such  as  poor  tutors  wear,  —  a  few 
good  books,  principally  classics,  —  a  print  or  two, 
and  a  plaster  model  of  the  Pantheon,  with  some 
pieces  of  furniture  which  had  seen  service, — these, 
and  a  child's  heart  full  of  tearful  recollections  and 
strange  doubts  and  questions,  alternating  with  the 
cheap  pleasures  which  are  the  anodynes  of  child- 
ish grief;  such  were  the  treasures  she  inherited. — 
No,  —  I  forgot.  With  that  kindly  sentiment  which 
all  of  us  feel  for  old  men's  first  children,  —  frost- 
flowers  of  the  early  winter  season,  —  the  old  tutor's 
students  had  remembered  him  at  a  time  when  he 
was  laughing  and  crying  with  his  new  parental 
emotions,  and  running  to  the  side  of  the  plain 
crib  in  which  his  alter  ego,  as  he  used  to  say, 
was  swinging,  to  hang  over  the  little  heap  of  stir- 
ring clothes,  from  which  looked  the  minute,  red, 
downy,  still,  round  face,  with  unfixed  eyes  and 
working  lips,  —  in  that  unearthly  gravity  which  has 
never  yet  been  broken  by  a  smile,  and  which  gives 
to  the  earliest  moon-year  or  two  of  an  infant's  life 
the  character  of  a  first  old  age,  to  counterpoise 
that  second  childhood  which  there  is  one  chance 
in  a  dozen  it  may  reach  by  and  by.  The  boys 
had  remembered  the  old  man  and  young  father 
at  that  tender  period  of  his  hard,  dry  life.  There 
came  to  him  a  fair,  silver  goblet,  embossed  with 
classical  figures,  and  bearing  on  a  shield  the  graven 
words,    Ex   clono  pupillorum.       The   handle   on   its 


Till:    PROFESSOB  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

side  showed  what  use  the  boys  had  meant  it  for; 
and  a  kind  letter  in  it,  written  with  the  best  of 
feeling,  in  the  worst  of  Latin,  pointed  delicately 
to  its  destination.  Out  of  this  silver  vessel,  after 
a  Ions:,  desperate,  strangling  cry,  which  marked 
her  first  great  lesson  in  the  realities  of  life,  the 
child  took  the  blue  milk,  such  as  poor  tutors  and 
their  children  get,  tempered  with  water,  and  sweet- 
ened a  little,  so  as  to  bring  it  nearer  the  standard 
established  by  the  touching  indulgence  and  par- 
tiality of  Nature, — who  has  mingled  an  extra 
allowance  of  sugar  in  the  blameless  food  of  the 
child  at  its  mother's  breast,  as  compared  with  that 
of  its  infant  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  bovine 
race. 

But  a  willow  will  grow  in  baked  sand  wet  with 
rain-water.  An  air-plant  will  grow  by  feeding  on 
the  winds.  Nay,  those  huge  forests  that  overspread 
great  continents  have  built  themselves  up  mainly 
from  the  air-currents  with  which  they  are  always 
battling.  The  oak  is  but  a  foliated  atmospheric 
crystal  deposited  from  the  aerial  ocean  that  holds 
the  future  vegetable  world  in  solution.  The  storm 
that  tears  its  leaves  has  paid  tribute  to  its  strength, 
and  it  breasts  the  tornado  clad  in  the  spoils  of  a 
hundred  hurricanes. 

Poor  little  Iris!  What  had  she  in  common 
with  the  great  oak  in  the  shadow  of  which  we 
are    losing    sight    of    her? — She    lived    and    grew 


84         THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

like  that,  —  this  was  all.  The  blue  milk  ran  into 
her  veins  and  rilled  them  with  thin,  pnre  blood. 
Her  skin  was  fan-,  with  a  faint  tinge,  such  as  the 
white  rosebud  shows  before  it  opens.  The  doctor 
who  had  attended  her  father  was  afraid  her  aunt 
would  hardly  be  able  to  "  raise  "  her,  —  "  delicate 
child," — hoped  she  was  not  consumptive,  —  thought 
there  was  a  fair  chance  she  would  take  after  her 
father. 

A  very  forlorn-looking  person,  dressed  in  black, 
with  a  white  neckcloth,  sent  her  a  memoir  of  a 
child  who  died  at  the  age  of  two  years  and  eleven 
months,  after  having  fully  indorsed  all  the  doc- 
trines of  the  particular  persuasion  to  which  he  not 
only  belonged  himself,  but  thought  it  very  shame- 
ful that  everybody  else  did  not  belong.  What 
with  foreboding  looks  and  dreary  death-bed  stories, 
it  was  a  wonder  the  child  made  out  to  live  through 
it.  It  saddened  her  early  years,  of  course,  —  it 
distressed  her  tender  soul  with  thoughts  which,  as 
they  cannot  be  fully  taken  in,  should  be  sparingly 
used  as  instruments  of  torture  to  break  down  the 
natural  cheerfulness  of  a  healthy  child,  or,  what  is 
infinitely  worse,  to  cheat  a  dying  one  out  of  the 
kind  illusions  with  which  the  Father  of  All  has 
strewed  its  downward  path. 

The  child  would  have  died,  no  doubt,  and,  if 
properly  managed,  might  have  added  another  to 
the  long  catalogue    of  wasting   children  who    have 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         88 

been  as  cruelly  played  upon  by  spiritual  physiolo- 
gists, often  with  the  best  intentions,  as  ever  the 
subject  of  a  rare  disease  by  the  curious  students 
of  science. 

Fortunately  for  her,  however,  a  wise  instinct 
had  guided  the  late  Latin  tutor  in  the  selection 
of  the  partner  of  his  life,  and  the  future  mother 
of  his  child.  The  deceased  tutoress  was  a  tran- 
quil, smooth  woman,  easily  nourished,  as  such 
people  are, — a  quality  which  is  inestimable  in  a 
tutor's  wife,  —  and  so  it  happened  that  the  daugh- 
ter inherited  enough  vitality  from  the  mother  to 
live  through  childhood  and  infancy  and  fight  her 
way  towards  womanhood,  in  spite  of  the  tenden- 
cies she  derived  from  her  other  parent. 

Two    and   two    do    not   always    make    four, 

in  this  matter  of  hereditary  descent  of  qualities. 
Sometimes  they  make  three,  and  sometimes  five. 
It  seems  as  if  the  parental  traits  at  one  time 
showed  separate,  at  another  blended,  —  that  occa- 
sionally the  force  of  two  natures  is  represented  in 
the  derivative  one  by  a  diagonal  of  greater  value 
than  either  original  line  of  living  movement,  —  that 
sometimes  there  is  a  loss  of  vitality  hardly  to  be 
accounted  for,  and  again  a  forward  impulse  of 
variable  intensity  in  some  new  and  unforeseen 
direction. 

So  it  was  with  this  child.  She  had  glanced  off 
from  her   parental    probabilities   at    an    unexpected 


86    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

angle.  Instead  of  taking  to  classical  learning  like 
her  father,  or  sliding  quietly  into  household  duties 
like  her  mother,  she  broke  out  early  in  efforts  that 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  Art.  As  soon  as  she 
could  hold  a  pencil  she  began  to  sketch  outlines 
of  objects  round  her  with  a  certain  air  and  spirit. 
Very  extraordinary  horses,  but  their  legs  looked 
as  if  they  could  move.  Birds  unknown  to  Audu- 
bon, yet  flying,  as  it  were,  with  a  rush.  Men 
with  impossible  legs,  which  did  yet  seem  to  have 
a  vital  connection  with  their  most  improbable 
bodies.  By-and-by  the  doctor,  on  his  beast,  —  an 
old  man  with  a  face  looking  as  if  Time  had 
kneaded  it  like  dough  with  his  knuckles,  with  a 
rhubarb  tint  and  flavor  pervading  himself  and  his 
sorrel  horse  and  all  their  appurtenances.  A  dread- 
ful old  man!  Be  sure  she  did  not  forget  those 
saddle-bags  that  held  the  detestable  bottles  out  of 
which  he  used  to  shake  those  loathsome  powders 
which,  to  virgin  childish  palates   that   find    heaven 

in    strawberries    and    peaches,    are Well,    I 

suppose  I  had  better  stop.  Only  she  wished  she 
was  dead  sometimes  when  she  heard  him  coming. 
On  the  next  leaf  would  figure  the  gentleman  with 
the  black  coat  and  white  cravat,  as  he  looked  when 
he  came  and  entertained  her  with  stories  concern- 
ing the  death  of  various  little  children  about  her 
age,  to  encourage  her,  as  that  wicked  Mr.  Aronet 
said    about    shooting    Admiral    Byng.       Then    she 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         87 

would   take    her   pencil,   and  with   a  few  scratches 

there  would  be  the  outline  of  a  child,  in  which 
you  might  notice  how  oue  sadden  sweep  gave  the 

chubby  cheek,  and  two  dots  darted  at  the  paper 
looked  like  real  eves. 

By-and-by  she  went  to  school,  and  caricatured 
the  schoolmaster  on  the  leaves  of  her  grammars 
and  geographies,  and  drew  the  faces  of  her  com- 
panions, and,  from  time  to  time,  heads  and  figures 
from  her  fancy,  with  large  eyes,  far  apart,  like 
those  of  RafTaelle's  mothers  and  children,  some- 
times with  wild  floating  hair,  and  then  with  wings 
and  heads  thrown  back  in  ecstacy.  This  was 
at  about  twelve  years  old,  as  the  dates  of  these 
drawings  show,  and,  therefore,  three  or  four  years 
before  she  came  among  us.  Soon  after  this  time, 
the  ideal  figures  began  to  take  the  place  of  por- 
traits and  caricatures,  and  a  new  feature  appeared 
in  her  drawing-books  in  the  form  of  fragments  of 
verse  and  short  poems. 

It  was  dull  work,  of  course,  for  such  a  young 
girl  to  live  with  an  old  spinster  and  go  to  a  vil- 
lage school.  Her  books  bore  testimony  to  this ; 
for  there  was  a  look  of  sadness  in  the  faces  she 
drew,  and  a  sense  of  weariness  and  longing  for 
some  imaginary  conditions  of  blessedness  or  other, 
which  began  to  be  painful.  She  might  have  gone 
through  this  flowering  of  the  soul,  and,  casting 
her    petals,    subsided    into    a    sober,    human    berry, 


88         THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

but  for  the  intervention  of  friendly  assistance  and 
counsel. 

In  the  town  where  she  lived  was  a  lady  of  hon- 
orable condition,  somewhat  past  middle  age,  who 
was  possessed  of  pretty  ample  means,  of  cultivated 
tastes,  of  excellent  principles,  of  exemplary  char- 
acter, and  of  more  than  common  accomplishments. 
The  gentleman  in  black  broadcloth  and  white 
neckerchief  only  echoed  the  common  voice  about 
her,  when  he  called  her,  after  enjoying,  beneath 
her  hospitable  roof,  an  excellent  cup  of  tea,  with 
certain  elegancies  and  luxuries  he  was  unaccus- 
tomed to,  "  The  Model  of  all  the  Virtues." 

She  deserved  this  title  as  well  as  almost  any 
woman.  She  did  really  bristle  with  moral  excel- 
lences. Mention  any  good  thing  she  had  not 
done ;  I  should  like  to  see  you  try !  There  was 
no  handle  of  weakness  to  take  hold  of  her  by ; 
she  was  as  unseizable,  except  in  her  totality,  as  a 
billiard-ball;  and  on  the  broad,  green,  terrestrial 
table,  where  she  had  been  knocked  about,  like  all 
of  us,  by  the  cue  of  Fortune,  she  glanced  from 
every  human  contact,  and  "  caromed "  from  one 
relation  to  another,  and  rebounded  from  the  stuffed 
cushion  of  temptation,  with  such  exact  and  perfect 
angular  movements,  that  the  Enemy's  corps  of 
Reporters  had  long  given  up  taking  notes  of  her 
conduct,  as  there  was  no  chance  for  their  master. 

What  an  admirable  person  for  the  patroness  and 


TOT   PBOFESSOB  AT  THE  BBKAKFAST-TABLE.        89 

directress  of  a  slightly  self-willed  child,  with  the 
lightning  zigzag  line  of  genius  running  like  a  glit- 
tering vein  through  the  marble  whiteness  of  her 
virgin  nature!  One  of  the  lady-patroness's  pecu- 
liar virtues  was  calmness.  She  was  resolute  and 
strenuous,  but  still.  You  could  depend  on  her  for 
every  duty;  she  was  as  true  as  steel.  She  was 
kind-hearted  and  serviceable  in  all  the  relations  of 
life.  She  had  more  sense,  more  knowledge,  more 
conversation,  as  well  as  more  goodness,  than  all 
the  partners  you  have  waltzed  with  this  winter 
put  together. 

Yet  no  man  was  known  to  have  loved  her,  or 
even  to  have  offered  himself  to  her  in  marriage. 
It  was  a  great  winder.  I  am  very  anxious  to 
vindicate  my  character  as  a  philosopher  and  an 
observer  of  Nature  by  accounting  for  this  appar- 
ently extraordinary  fact. 

You  may  remember  certain  persons  wTho  have 
the  misfortune  of  presenting  to  the  friends  whom 
they  meet  a  cold,  damp  hand.  There  are  states 
of  mind  in  which  a  contact  of  this  kind  has  a 
depressing  effect  on  the  vital  powers  that  makes 
us  insensible  to  all  the  virtues  and  graces  of  the 
proprietor  of  one  of  these  life-absorbing  organs. 
When  they  touch  us,  virtue  passes  out  of  us,  and 
we  feel  as  if  our  electricity  had  been  drained  by 
a  powerful  negative  battery,  earned  about  by  an 
overgrown  human  torpedo. 


90         THE  PROFESSOE  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

"  The  Model  of  all  the  Virtues  "  had  a  pair  of 
searching  eyes  as  clear  as  Wenham  ice  ;  but  they 
were  slower  to  melt  than  that  fickle  jewelry.  Her 
features  disordered  themselves  slightly  at  times  in 
a  surface-smile,  but  never  broke  loose  from  their 
corners  and  indulged  in  the  riotous  tumult  of  a 
laugh, — which,  I  take  it,  is  the  mob-law  of  the 
features,  —  and  propriety  the  magistrate  who  reads 
the  riot-act.  She  carried  the  brimming  cup  of  her 
inestimable  virtues  with  a  cautious,  steady  hand, 
and  an  eye  always  on  them,  to  see  that  they  did 
not  spill.  Then  she  was  an  admirable  judge  of 
character.  Her  mind  was  a  perfect  laboratory  of 
tests  and  reagents ;  every  syllable  you  put  into 
breath  went  into  her  intellectual  eudiometer,  and 
all  your  thoughts  were  recorded  on  litmus-paper. 
I  think  there  has  rarely  been  a  more  admirable 
woman.     Of  course,  Miss  Iris  was  immensely  and 

passionately  attached  to  her. Well, — these  are 

two  highly  oxygenated  adverbs,  —  grateful,  —  sup- 
pose we  say,  —  yes,  —  grateful,  dutiful,  obedient  to 
her  wishes  for  the  most  part, — perhaps  not  quite 
up  to  the  concert  pitch  of  such  a  perfect  orchestra 
of  the  virtues. 

We  must  have  a  weak  spot  or  two  in  a  char- 
acter before  we  can  love  it  much.  People  that  do 
not  laugh  or  cry,  or  take  more  of  anything  than 
is  good  for  them,  or  use  anything  but  dictionary- 
words,  are  admirable  subjects  for  biographies.     But 


Tin;   l'ROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.         01 

we  don't  always  care  most  for  those  flat-pattern 
flowers  that  press  best  in  the  herbarium. 

This  immaculate  woman,  —  why  couldn't  she 
have  a  fault  or  two  ?  Isn't  there  any  old  whisper 
which  will  tarnish  that  wearisome  aureole  of  saintly 
perfection  ?  Doesn't  she  carry  a  lump  of  opium 
in  her  pocket?  Isn't  her  cologne-bottle  replenished 
oftener  than  its  legitimate  use  would  require  ?  It 
would  be  such  a  comfort! 

Not  for  the  world  would  a  young  creature  like 
Iris  have  let  such  words  escape  her,  or  such  thoughts 
pass  through  her  mind.  Whether  at  the  bottom 
of  her  soul  lies  any  uneasy  consciousness  of  an 
oppressive  presence,  it  is  hard  to  say,  until  we 
know  more  about  her.  Iris  sits  between  the  little 
gentleman  and  the  "  Model  of  all  the  Virtues," 
as  the  black-coated  personage  called  her.  —  I  will 
watch  them  all. 

Here    I    stop    for    the    present.     "What    the 

Professor  said  has  had  to  make  way  this  time  for 
what  he  saw  and  heard. 

And  now  you  may  read  these   tines,  which 

were  written  for  gentle  souls  who  love  music,  and 
read  in  even  tones,  and,  perhaps,  with  something 
like  a  smile  upon  the  reader's  lips,  at  a  meeting 
where  these  musical  friends  had  gathered.  Whether 
they  were  written  with  smiles  or  not,  you  can 
guess  better  after  you  have  read  them. 


92         THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


THE   OPENING   OF  THE  PIANO. 

In  the  little  southern  parlor  of  the  house  you  may  have  seen 
With  the  gambrel-roof,  and  the  gable  looking  westward   to   the 

green, 
At  the  side  toward  the  sunset,  with  the  window  on  its  right, 
Stood  the  London-made  piano  I  am  dreaming  of  to-night. 

Ah  me  !  how  I  remember  the  evening  when  it  came  ! 

What  a  cry  of  eager  voices,  what  a  group  of  cheeks  in  flame, 

When  the  wondrous  box  was  opened  that  had  come  from   over 

seas, 
With  its  smell  of  mastic-varnish  and  its  flash  of  ivory  keys  ! 

Then  the  children  all  grew  fretful  in  the  restlessness  of  joy, 
For  the  boy  would   push   his    sister,  and   the   sister   crowd   the 

boy, 
Till  the  father  asked  for  quiet  in  his  grave  paternal  way, 
But   the   mother   hushed   the    tumult    with    the    words,    "  Now, 

Mary,  play." 

For    the    dear    soul   knew   that   music    was    a    very   sovereign 

balm; 
She    had    sprinkled    it    over    Sorrow    and    seen  its  brow   grow 

calm, 
In    the    days    of   slender    harpsichords    with    tapping    tinkling 

quills, 
Or  carolling  to  her  spinet  with  its  thin  metallic  thrills. 

So  Mary,  the  household  minstrel,  who  always  loved  to  please, 
Sat   down    to   the    new  "  Clementi,"  and   struck   the   glittering 
keys. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.         93 

Hushed  were  the  children's  voices,  and  every  eye  grew  dim, 
Aa,  floating  from  Up  and  finger,  arose  the  "Vesper  Hymn." 

—  Catharine,  child  of  a  neighbor,  curly  and  rosy-red, 
(Wedded    since,    and    a    widow, — something    like    ten    yean 

dead.) 
Hearing  a  gush  of  music  such  as  none  before, 
Steals    from    her    mother's    chamber    and    peeps    at    the    open 

do  t. 

Just  as  the  M  Jubilate "  in  threaded  whisper  dies, 

—  "Open  it!  open  it,  lady!"  the  little  maiden  cries, 

(For  she  thought  'twas  a  singing  creature  caged  in  a  box   she 

heard.) 
k-  Open  it  !  open  it,  lady  !  and  let  me  see  the  bird .'  " 


IV. 

I  don't  know  whether  our  literary  or  professional 
people  are  more  amiable  than  they  are  in  other 
places,  but  certainly  quarrelling  is  out  of  fashion 
among  them.  This  could  never  be,  if  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  secret  anonymous  puffing  of  each 
other.  That  is  the  kind  of  underground  machin- 
ery, which  manufactures  false  reputations  and  gen- 
uine hatreds.  On  the  other  hand,  I  should  like  to 
know  if  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  have  a  good 
time    together,  and   say  the    pleasantest    things  we 


94    THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

can  think  of  to  each  other,  when  any  of  us  reaches 
his  thirtieth  or  fortieth  or  fiftieth  or  eightieth  birth- 
day. 

We  don't  have  "  scenes,"  I  warrant  you,  on 
these  occasions.  No  "  surprise  "  parties  !  You  un- 
derstand these,  of  course.  In  the  rural  districts, 
where  scenic  tragedy  and  melodrama  cannot  be 
had,  as  in  the  city,  at  the  expense  of  a  quarter 
and  a  white  pocket-handkerchief,  emotional  excite- 
ment has  to  be  sought  in  the  dramas  of  real  life. 
Christenings,  weddings,  and  funerals,  especially  the 
latter,  are  the  main  dependence ;  but  babies,  brides, 
and  deceased  citizens  cannot  be  had  at  a  day's 
notice.     Now,  then,  for  a  surprise-party ! 

A  bag  of  flour,  a  barrel  of  potatoes,  some  strings 
of  onions,  a  basket  of  apples,  a  big  cake  and  many 
little  cakes,  a  jug  of  lemonade,  a  purse  stuffed 
with  bills  of  the  more  modest  denominations,  may, 
perhaps,  do  well  enough  for  the  properties  in  one 
of  these  private  theatrical  exhibitions.  The  minis- 
ter of  the  parish,  a  tender-hearted,  quiet,  hard- 
working man,  living  on  a  small  salary,  with  many 
children,  sometimes  pinched  to  feed  and  clothe 
them,  praying  fervently  every  day  to  be  blest  in 
his  "  basket  and  store,"  but  sometimes  fearing  he 
asks  amiss,  to  judge  by  the  small  returns,  has  the 
first  role, — not,  however,  by  his  own  choice,  but 
forced  upon  him.  The  minister's  wife,  a  sharp- 
eyed,  unsentimental  body,  is  first  lady  ;  the  remain- 


THE    PBOFKSSOB   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.         (J."> 

ing  parts  by  the  rest  of  the  family.     If  they  only 
had  a  playbill,  it  would  run  thus:  — 

ON  TUESDAY  NEXT 
WILL     BE     PRESENTED 

THE     AFFECTING     SCENE 

CALLED 

THE    SURPRISE-PARTY, 

OR 

THE    OVERCOME   FAMILY; 

WITH     THE     FOLLOWING     STRONG     CAST     OF      CHARACTERS  : 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Overcome,  by  the  Clergyman  of 
this   Parish. 

Mrs,    Overcome,  by  his  estimable  lady. 

Masters  Matthevj,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John  Over- 
come, 

Misses  Dorcas,  Tabitha,  Rachel,  and  Hannah 
Overcome,  by  their  interesting  children. 

Peggy,  by  the  female  help. 

The  poor  man  is  really  grateful;  —  it  is  a  most 
welcome  and  unexpected  relief.  He  tries  to  ex- 
press his  thanks,  —  his  voice  falters,  —  he  chokes, — 
and  bursts  into  tears.  That  is  the  great  effect  of 
the  evening.  The  sharp-sighted  lady  cries  a  little 
with  one  eye,  and  counts  the  strings  of  onions, 
and   the   rest    of   the    things,  with  the  other.     The 


9G         THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

children  stand  ready  for  a  spring  at  the  apples. 
The  female  help  weeps  after  the  noisy  fashion  of 
untutored  handmaids. 

Now  this  is  all  very  well  as  charity,  but  do  let 
the  kind  visitors  remember  they  get  their  money's 
worth.  If  you  pay  a  quarter  for  dry  crying,  done 
by  a  second-rate  actor,  how  much  ought  you  to 
pay  for  real  hot,  wet  tears,  out  of  the  honest  eyes 
of  a  gentleman  who  is  not  acting,  but  sobbing  in 
earnest  ? 

All  I  meant  to  say,  when  I  began,  was,  that 
this  was  not  a  surprise-party  where  I  read  these 
few  lines  that  follow :  — 

We  will  not  speak  of  years  to  night ; 

For  what  have  years  to  bring, 
But  larger  floods  of  love  and  light 

And  sweeter  songs  to  sing  ? 

We  will  not  drown  in  wordy  praise 

The  kindly  thoughts  that  rise ; 
If  friendship  owns  one  tender  phrase, 

He  reads  it  in  our  eyes. 

We  need  not  waste  our  schoolboy  art 

To  gild  this  notch  of  time  ; 
Forgive  me,  if  my  wayward  heart 

Has  throbbed  in  artless  rhyme. 

Enough  for  him  the  silent  grasp 
That  knits  us  hand  in  hand, 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.         97 

And  be  the  bracelet's  radiant  clasp 
That  locks  our  circling  band. 

Strength  to  his  hours  of  manly  toil ! 

Peace  to  his  starlit  dreams! 
Who  loves  alike  the  furrowed  soil, 

The  music-haunted  streams  ! 

Sweet  smiles  to  keep  forever  bright 

The  sunshine  on  his  lips, 
And  faith,  that  sees  the  ring  of  light 

Round  Nature's  last  eclipse ! 

One    of  our   boarders    has   been   talking   in 

such  strong  language  that  I  am  almost  afraid  to 
report  it.  However,  as  he  seems  to  be  really 
honest  and  is  so  very  sincere  in  his  local  preju- 
dices, I  don't  believe  anybody  will  be  very  angry 
with  him. 

It  is  here,  Sir !  right  here !  —  said  the  little  de- 
formed gentleman,  —  in  this  old  new  city  of  Bos- 
ton,—  this  remote  provincial  corner  of  a  provincial 
nation,  that  the  Battle  of  the  Standard  is  fighting, 
and  was  fighting  before  we  were  born,  and  will 
be  fighting  when  we  are  dead  and  gone,  —  please 
God!  The  battle  goes  on  everywhere  throughout 
civilization ;  but  here,  here,  here !  is  the  broad 
white  flag  flying  which  proclaims,  first  of  all, 
peace  and  good-will  to  men,  and,  next  to  that, 
the  absolute,  unconditional  spiritual  liberty  of  each 


98         THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

individual  immortal  soul!  The  three-hilled  city 
against  the  seven-hilled  city!  That  is  it,  Sir, — 
nothing  less  than  that ;  and  if  you  know  what 
that  means,  I  don't  think  you'll  ask  for  anything 
more.  I  swear  to  you,  Sir,  I  believe  that  these 
two  centres  of  civilization  are  just  exactly  the  two 
points  that  close  the  circuit  in  the  battery  of  our 
planetary  intelligence !  And  I  believe  there  are 
spiritual  eyes  looking  out  from  Uranus  and  unseen 
Neptune,  —  ay,  Sir,  from  the  systems  of  Sirius  and 
Arcturus  and  Aldebaran,  and  as  far  as  that  faint 
stain  of  sprinkled  worlds  confluent  in  the  distance 
that  we  call  the  nebula  of  Orion,  —  looking  on, 
Sir,  with  what  organs  I  know  not,  to  see  which 
are  going  to  melt  in  that  fiery  fusion,  the  acci- 
dents and  hindrances  of  humanity  or  man  himself, 
Sir,  —  the  stupendous  abortion,  the  illustrious  fail- 
ure that  he  is,  if  the  three-hilled  city  does  not 
ride  down  and  trample  out  the  seven-hilled  city! 

Steam's  up  !  —  said   the   young   man   John, 

so  called,  in  a  low  tone.  —  Three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  tons  to  the  square  inch.  Let  him  blow 
her  off,  or  he'll  bu'st  his  b'iler. 

The  divinity-student  took  it  calmly,  only  whis- 
pering that  he  thought  there  was  a  little  confu- 
sion of  images  between  a  galvanic  battery  and  a 
charge  of  cavalry. 

But  the  Koh-i-noor  —  the  gentleman,  you  re- 
member, with   a  very   large   diamond  in   his    shirt- 


Nil:    PBOFESSOB   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.         99 

front  —  laughed  his  scornful  laugh,  and  made  as 
if  to  speak. 

Sail  in,  Metropolis!  —  said  that  same  young 
man  John,  by  name.  And  then,  in  a  lower  tone, 
not  meaning  to  be  heard,  —  Now,  then,  Ma'am 
Allen ! 

But  he  ivas  heard,  —  and  the  Koh-i-noor's  face 
Turned  so  white  with  rage,  that  his  blue-black 
moustache  and  beard  looked  fearful,  seen  against 
it.  He  grinned  with  wrath,  and  caught  at  a  tum- 
bler, as  if  he  would  have  thrown  it  or  its  con- 
tents at  the  speaker.  The  young  Marylander  fixed 
his  clear,  steady  eye  upon  him,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  his  arm,  carelessly  almost,  but  the  Jewel  found 
it  was  held  so  that  he  could  not  move  it.  It  was 
of  no  use.  The  youth  was  his  master  in  muscle, 
and  in  that  deadly  Indian  hug  in  which  men 
wrestle  with  their  eyes ;  —  over  in  five  seconds, 
but  breaks  one  of  their  two  backs,  and  is  good 
for  threescore  years  and  ten ;  —  one  trial  enough, 
—  settles  the  whole  matter,  —  just  as  when  two 
feathered  songsters  of  the  barnyard,  game  and 
dunghill,  come  together,  —  after  a  jump  or  two  at 
each  other,  and  a  few  sharp  kicks,  there  is  the  end 
of  it ;  and  it  is,  Apres  vous,  Monsieur,  with  the 
beaten  party  in  all  the  social  relations  for  all  the 
rest  of  his  days. 

I  cannot  philosophically  account  for  the  Koh-i- 
noor's  wrath.     For  though  a  cosmetic  is  sold,  bear- 


100      THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

ing  the  name  of  the  lady  to  whom  reference  was 
made  by  the  young  person  John,  yet,  as  it  is 
publicly  asserted  in  respectable  prints  that  this 
cosmetic  is  not  a  dye,  I  see  no  reason  why  he 
should  have  felt  offended  by  any  suggestion  that 
he  was  indebted  to  it  or  its  authoress.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  there  are  certain  exceptional  complex- 
ions to  which  the  purple  tinge,  above  alluded  to, 
is  natural.  Nature  is  fertile  in  variety.  I  saw  an 
albiness  in  London  once,  for  sixpence,  (including 
the  inspection  of  a  stuffed  boa-constrictor,)  who 
looked  as  if  she  had  been  boiled  in  milk.  A 
young  Hottentot  of  my  acquaintance  had  his  hair 
all  in  little  pellets  of  the  size  of  marrowfat  peas. 
One  of  my  own  classmates  has  undergone  a  sin- 
gular change  of  late  years,  —  his  hair  losing  its 
original  tint,  and  getting  a  remarkable  discolored 
look ;  and  another  has  ceased  to  cultivate  any  hair 
at  all  over  the  vertex  or  crown  of  the  head.  So  I 
am  perfectly  willing  to  believe  that  the  purple- 
black  of  the  Koh-i-noor's  moustache  and  whiskers 
is  constitutional  and  not  pigmentary.  But  I  can't 
think  why  he  got  so  angry. 

The  intelligent  reader  will  understand  that  all 
this  pantomine  of  the  threatened  onslaught  and  its 
suppression  passed  so  quickly  that  it  was  all  over 
by  the  time  the  other  end  of  the  table  found  out 
there  was  a  disturbance  ;  just  as  a  man  chopping 
wood  half  a  mile  off  may  be    seen   resting  on  his 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       101 

axe  at  the  instant  you  hear  the  last  blow  he 
struck.  So  you  will  please  to  observe  that  the 
Little  Gentleman  was  not  interrupted  during  the 
time  implied  by  these  ex-post-facto  remarks  of 
mine,  but  for  some  ten  or  fifteen  seconds  only. 

He  did  not  seem  to  mind  the  interruption  at 
all,  for  he  started  again.  The  "  Sir "  of  his  ha- 
rangue was  no  doubt  addressed  to  myself  more 
than  anybody  else,  but  he  often  uses  it  in  dis- 
course as  if  he  were  talking  with  some  imaginary 
opponent. 

America,  Sir,  —  he  exclaimed,  —  is   the   only 

place  where  man  is   full-grown  ! 

He  straightened  himself  up,  as  he  spoke,  stand- 
ing on  the  top  round  of  his  high  chair,  I  suppose, 
and  so  presented  the  larger  part  of  his  little  figure 
to  the  view  of  the  boarders. 

It  was  next  to  impossible  to  keep  from  laugh- 
ing. The  commentary  was  so  strange  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  text! 

I  thought  it  was  time  to  put  in  a  word  ;  for  I 
have  lived  in  foreign  parts,  and  am  more  or  less 
cosmopolitan. 

I  doubt  if  we  have  more  practical  freedom  in 
America  than  they  have  in  England, —  I  said. — 
An  Englishman  thinks  as  he  likes  in  religion  and 
politics.  Mr.  Martineau  speculates  as  freely  as 
ever  Dr.  Channing  did,  and  Mr.  Bright  is  as  in- 
dependent as  Mr.  Seward. 


102       THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Sir,  —  said  he,  —  it  isn't  what  a  man  thinks  or 
says,  but  when  and  where  and  to  whom  he  thinks 
and  says  it.  A  man  with  a  flint  and  steel  strik- 
ing sparks  over  a  wet  blanket  is  one  thing,  and 
striking  them  over  a  tinder-box  is  another.  The 
free  Englishman  is  born  under  protest ;  he  lives 
and  dies  under  protest, —  a  tolerated,  but  not  a 
welcome  fact.  Is  not  freethinker  a  term  of  re- 
proach in  England?  The  same  idea  in  the  soul 
of  an  Englishman  who  struggled  up  to  it  and 
still  holds  it  antagonistically ',  and  in  the  soul  of  an 
American  to  whom  it  is  congenital  and  spontane- 
ous, and  often  unrecognized,  except  as  an  element 
blended  with  all  his  thoughts,  a  natural  move- 
ment, like  the  drawing  of  his  breath  or  the  beat- 
ing of  his  heart,  is  a  very  different  thing.  You 
may  teach  a  quadruped  to  walk  on  his  hind  legs, 
but  he  is  always  wanting  to  be  on  all-fours. 
Nothing  that  can  be  taught  a  growing  youth  is 
like  the  atmospheric  knowledge  he  breathes  from 
his  infancy  upwards.  The  American  baby  sucks 
in  freedom  with  the  milk  of  the  breast  at  which 
he  hangs. 

That's  a  good  joke,  —  said  the  young  fel- 
low John,  —  considerin'  it  commonly  belongs  to  a 
female  Paddy. 

I  thought  —  I  will  not  be  certain  —  that  the 
Little  Gentleman  winked,  as  if  he  had  been  hit 
somewhere  —  as  I  have   no   doubt  Dr.  Darwin  did 


TIIE   PBOFESSOB  AT   THE  BBEAKFAST-TABLE.       103 

when  the  wooden-spoon  suggestion  upset  his  thepry 

about   why,    etc.       If   he  winked,  however,    he    did 
not  dodge. 

A  lively  comment!  —  he  said.  —  But  Rome,  in 
her  great  founder,  sucked  the  blood  of  empire  out 
of  the  dugs  of  a  brute,  Sir!  The  .Milesian  wet- 
nurse  is  only  a  convenient  vessel  through  which 
the  American  infant  gets  the  life-blood  of  this  virgin 
soil,  Sir,  that  is  making  man  over  again,  on  the 
sunset  pattern!  You  doirt  think  what  we  are  do- 
ing and  going  to  do  here.  Why,  Sir,  while  com- 
mentators are  bothering  themselves  with  interpre- 
tation of  prophecies,  ice  have  got  the  new  heavens 
and  the  new  earth  over  us  and  under  us !  Was 
there  ever  anything  in  Italy,  I  should  like  to  know, 
like  a  Boston  sunset  ? 

This  time  there  was  a  laugh,  and  the  little 


man  himself  almost  smiled. 

Yes,  —  Boston  sunsets  ;  —  perhaps  they're  as 
good  in  some  other  places,  but  I  know  'em  best 
here.  Anyhow,  the  American  skies  are  different 
from  anything  they  see  in  the  Old  World.  Yes, 
and  the  rocks  are  different,  and  the  soil  is  diff  r- 
ent,  and  everything  that  comes  out  of  the  soil, 
from  grass  up  to  Indians,  is  different.  And  now 
that  the  provisional  races  are  dying  out 

What    do    you    mean    by    the    provisional 


.   Sir? — said  the  divinity-student,  interraptinj 

him. 


104   THE  PEOFESSOE  AT  THE  BEEAKFAST-TABLE. 

"Why,  the  aboriginal  bipeds,  to  be  sure,  —  he 
answered,  —  the  red-crayon  sketch  of  humanity 
laid  on  the  canvas  before  the  colors  for  the  real 
manhood  were  ready. 

I  hope  they  will  come  to  something  yet,  —  said 
the  divinity-student. 

Irreclaimable,  Sir,  —  irreclaimable !  —  said  the  Lit- 
tle Gentleman. —  Cheaper  to  breed  white  men  than 
domesticate  a  nation  of  red  ones.  When  you  can 
get  the  bitter  out  of  the  partridge's  thigh,  you  can 
make  an  enlightened  commonwealth  of  Indians. 
A  provisional  race,  Sir,  —  nothing  more.  Exhaled 
carbonic  acid  for  the  use  of  vegetation,  kept  down 
the  bears  and  catamounts,  enjoyed  themselves  in 
scalping  and  being  scalped,  and  then  passed  away 
or  are  passing  away,  according  to  the  programme. 

Well,  Sir,  these  races  dying  out,  the  white  man 
has  to  acclimate  himself.  It  takes  him  a  good 
while  ;  but  he  will  come  all  right  by-and-by,  Sir, 
— as  sound  as  a  woodchuck,  —  as  sound  as  a  mus- 
quash ! 

A  new  nursery,  Sir,  with  Lake  Superior  and 
Huron  and  all  the  rest  of  'em  for  wash-basins ! 
A  new  race,  and  a  whole  new  world  for  the  new- 
born human  soul  to  work  in !  And  Boston  is  the 
brain  of  it,  and  has  been  any  time  these  hundred 
years!  That's  all  I  claim  for  Boston,  —  that  it  is 
the  thinking  centre  of  the  continent,  and  therefore 
of  the  planet. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       105 

And   the    grand    emporium    of    modesty, — 

$aid  the  divinity-student,  a  little  mischievously. 

Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  of  modesty !  —  answered 
the  Little  Gentleman, —  I'm  past  that!  There  isn't 
a  thing  that  was  ever  said  or  done  in  Boston, 
from  pitching  the  tea  overboard  to  the  last  eccle- 
siastical lie  it  tore  into  tatters  and  flung  into  the 
dock,  that  wasn't  thought  very  indelicate  by  some 
fool  or  tyrant  or  bigot,  and  all  the  entrails  of 
commercial  and  spiritual  conservatism  are  twisted 
into  colics  as  often  as  this  revolutionary  brain  of 
ours  has  a  fit  of  thinking  come  over.  it.  —  No,  Sir, 
—  show  me  any  other  place  that  is,  or  was  since 
the  megalosaurus  has  died  out,  where  wealth  and 
social  influence  are  so  fairly  divided  between  the 
stationary  and  the  progressive  classes !  Show  me 
any  other  place  where  every  other  drawing-room  is 
not  a  chamber  of  the  Inquisition,  with  papas  and 
mammas  for  inquisitors.  —  and  the  cold  shoulder, 
instead  of  the  "  dry  pan  and  the  gradual  fire,"  the 
punishment  of  "heresy"! 

"We    think    Baltimore    is    a    pretty   civilized 

kind  of  a  village,  —  said  the  young  Marylander, 
good-naturedly.  —  But  I  suppose  you  can't  forgive 
it  for  always  keeping  a  little  ahead  of  Boston  in 
point  of  numbers,  —  tell  the  truth  now.  Are  we 
not  the  centre  of   something  ? 

All,  indeed,  to  be  sure  you  are.  You  are  the 
gastronomic  metropolis  of  the   Union.     Why  don't 


106      THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

you  put  a  canvas-back  duck  on  the  top  of  the 
Washington  column  ?  Why  don't  you  get  that 
lady  off  from  Battle  Monument  and  plant  a  terra- 
pin in  her  place  ?  Why  will  you  ask  for  other 
glories  when  you  have  soft  crabs?  No,  Sir,  —  you 
live  too  well  to  think  as  hard  as  we  do  in  Boston. 
Logic  comes  to  us  with  the  salt-fish  of  Cape  Ann ; 
rhetoric  is  born  of  the  beans  of  Beverly  ;  but  you 
—  if  you  open  your  mouths  to  speak,  Nature 
stops  them  with  a  fat  oyster,  or  offers  a  slice  of 
the  breast  of  your  divine  bird,  and  silences  all 
your  aspirations. 

And  what  of  Philadelphia? — said  the  Marylander. 

Oh,  Philadelphia  ?  —  Waterworks,  —  killed  by  the 
Croton  and  Cochituate  ;  —  Ben  Franklin,  —  bor- 
rowed from  Boston  ;  —  David  Eittenhouse,  —  made 
an  orrery  ;  —  Benjamin  Rush,  —  made  a  medical 
system  :  —  both  interesting  to  antiquarians ;  —  great 
Red-river  raft  of  medical  students,  —  spontaneous 
generation  of  professors  to  match ;  —  more  widely 
known  through  the  Moyamensing  hose-company, 
and  the  Wistar  parties ;  —  for  geological  section 
of  social  strata,  go  to  The  Club.  —  Good  place  to 
live  in, —  first-rate  market,  —  tip-top  peaches. — 
What  do  we  know  about  Philadelphia,  except  that 
the  engine-companies  are  always  shooting  each 
other  ? 

And  what  do  you  say  to  Ne'  York?  —  asked 
the  Koh-i-noor. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       107 

A  great  city,  Sir,  —  replied  the  Little  Gentleman, 
—  a  very  opulent,  splendid  city.  A  point  of  tran- 
sit of  much  that  is  remarkable,  and  of  perma- 
nence for  much  that  is  respectable.  A  great 
money-centre.  San  Francisco  with  the  mines 
above-ground,  —  and  some  of  'em  under  the  side- 
walks. I  have  seen  next  to  nothing  grandiose, 
out  of  New  York,  in  all  our  cities.  It  makes  'em 
all  look  paltry  and  petty.  Has  many  elements  of 
civilization.  May  stop  where  Venice  did,  though, 
for  aught  we  know. —  The  order  of  its  develop- 
ment is  just  this:  —  Wealth;  architecture;  uphol- 
stery; painting;  sculpture.  Printing,  as  a  mechan- 
ical art, — just  as  Nicholas  Jenson  and  the  Aldi, 
who  were  scholars  too,  made  Venice  renowned  for 
it.  Journalism,  which  is  the  accident  of  business 
and  crowded  populations,  in  great  perfection.  Ven- 
ice got  as  far  as  Titian  and  Paul  Veronese  and 
Tintoretto,  —  great  colorists,  mark  you,  magnificent 
on  the  flesh-and-blood  side  of  Art,  —  but  look  over 
to  Florence  and  see  who  lie  in  Santa  Croce,  and 
ask  out  of  whose  loins  Dante  sprung! 

Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure,  Venice  built  her  Ducal 
Palace,  and  her  Church  of  St.  Mark,  and  her 
Casa  d'  Oro,  and  the  rest  of  her  golden  houses; 
and  Venice  had  great  pictures  and  good  music ; 
and  Venice  had  a  Golden  Book,  in  which  all  the 
ltrire  tax-payers  had  their  names  written;  —  but 
all  that  did   not    make   Venice    the  brain  of    Italy. 


108       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

I  tell  you  what,  Sir, — with  all  these  magnificent 
appliances  of  civilization,  it  is  time  we  began  to 
hear  something  from  the  jeunesse  doree  whose 
names  are  on  the  Golden  Book  of  our  sumptuous, 
splendid,  marble-palaced  Venice,  —  something  in 
the  higher  walks  of  literature,  —  something  in  the 
councils  of  the  nation.  Plenty  of  Art,  I  grant 
you,  Sir ;  now,  then,  for  vast  libraries,  and  for 
mighty  scholars  and  thinkers  and  statesmen,  —  five 
for  every  Boston  one,  as  the  population  is  to  ours, 
—  ten  to  one  more  properly,  in  virtue  of  centraliz- 
ing attraction  as  the  alleged  metropolis, —  and  not 
call  our  people  provincials,  and  have  to  come  beg- 
ging to  us  to  write  the  lives  of  Hendrik  Hudson 
and  Gouverneur  Morris! 

The   Little  Gentleman  was    on    his    hobby, 

exalting  his  own  city  at  the  expense  of  every 
other  place.  I  have  my  doubts  if  he  had  been  in 
either  of  the  cities  he  had  been  talking  about.  I 
was  just  going  to  say  something  to  sober  him 
down,  if  I  could,  when  the  young  Marylander 
spoke  up. 

Come,  now,  —  he  said,  —  what's  the  use  of  these 
comparisons?  Didn't  I  hear  this  gentleman  say- 
ing, the  other  day,  that  every  American  owns  all 
America?  If  you  have  really  got  more  brains  in 
Boston  than  other  folks,  as  you  seem  to  think, 
who  hates  you  for  it,  except  a  pack  of  scribbling 
fools?     If   I   like    Broadway  better  than  Washing- 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BBBAKF AST- TABLE.       109 

(on  Street,  what  then?  I  own  them  both,  as  much 
as  anybody  owns  either.  I  am  an  American, — 
and  wherever  I  look  up  and  see  the  stars  and 
stripes  overhead,  that  is  home  to  me! 

He  spoke,  and  looked  up  as  if  he  heard  the  em- 
blazoned folds  crackling  over  him  in  the  breeze. 
We  all  looked  up  involuntarily,  as  if  we  should 
see  the  national  flag  by  so  doing.  The  sight  of 
the  dingy  ceiling  and  the  gas-fixture  depending 
therefrom  dispelled  the  illusion. 

Bravo !  bravo !  —  said  the  venerable  gentleman  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table.  —  Those  are  the  senti- 
ments of  Washington's  Farewell  Address.  Noth- 
ing better  than  that  since  the  last  chapter  in  Reve- 
lations. Five-and-forty  years  ago  there  used  to  be 
Washington  societies,  and  little  boys  used  to  walk 
in  processions,  each  little  boy-  having  a  copy  of 
the  Address,  bound  in  red,  hung  round  his  neck 
by  a  ribbon.  Why  don't  they  now?  Why  don't 
they  now  ?  I  saw  enough  of  hating  each  other  in 
the  old  Federal  times  ;  now  let's  love  each  other, 
I  say,  —  let's  love  each  other,  and  not  try  to  make 
it  out  that  there  isn't  any  place  fit  to  live  in  ex- 
cept the  one  we  happen  to  be   born  in. 

It  dwarfs  the  mind,  I  think,  —  said  I,  —  to  feed 
it  on  any  localism.  The  full  stature  of  manhood 
is  shrivelled 

The  color  burst  up  into  my  cheeks.  What  was 
I  saying, —  I,  who  would    not  for   the  world    have 


110       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

pained  our  unfortunate  little  boarder  by  an  allu- 
sion ? 

I  will  go,  —  he  said,  —  and  made  a  movement 
with  his  left  arm  to  let  himself  down  from  his 
high  chair. 

No,  —  no,  —  he  doesn't  mean  it,  —  you  must  not 
go,  —  said  a  kind  voice  next  him ;  and  a  soft, 
white  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm. 

Iris,  my  dear !  —  exclaimed  another  voice,  as  of 
a  female,  in  accents  that  might  be  considered  a 
strong  atmospheric  solution  of  duty  with  very  little 
flavor  of  grace. 

She  did  not  move  for  this  address,  and  there 
was  a  tableau  that  lasted  some  seconds.  For  the 
young  girl,  in  the  glory  of  half-blown  womanhood, 
and  the  dwarf,  the  cripple,  the  misshapen  little 
creature  covered  with  Nature's  insults,  looked 
straight  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Perhaps  no  handsome  young  woman  had  ever 
looked  at  him  so  in  his  life.  Certainly  the  young 
girl  never  had  looked  into  eyes  that  reached  into 
her  soul  as  these  did.  It  was  not  that  they  were 
in  themselves  supernaturally  bright,  —  but  there 
was  the  sad  fire  in  them  that  flames  up  from  the 
soul  of  one  who  looks  on  the  beauty  of  woman 
without  hope,  but,  alas!  not  without  emotion.  To 
him  it  seemed  as  if  those  amber  gates  had  been 
translucent  as  the  brown  water  of  a  mountain- 
brook,  and  through  them  he    had   seen   dimly  into 


THE   PBOFBSSOB  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       Ill 

a  virgin  wilderness,  only  waiting  for  the  sunrise 
of  a  great  passion  for  all  its  buds  to  blow  and  all 
its  bowers  to  ring  with  melody. 

That  is  my  image,  of  course, —  not  his.  It  was 
not  a  simile  that  was  in  his  mind,  or  is  in  any- 
body's at  such  a  moment, —  it  was  a  pang  of 
wordless    passion,  and  then  a  silent,  inward  moan. 

A  lady's  wish,  —  he  said,  with  a  certain  gal- 
lantry of  manner, —  makes  slaves  of  us  all. —  And 
Nature,  who  is  kind  to  all  her  children,  and  never 
leaves  the  smallest  and  saddest  of  all  her  human 
failures  without  one  little  comfit  of  self-love  at  the 
bottom  of  his  poor  ragged  pocket,  —  Nature  sug- 
gested to  him  that  he  had  turned  his  sentence 
well ;  and  he  fell  into  a  reverie,  in  which  the  old 
thoughts  that  were  always  hovering  just  outside 
the  doors  guarded  by  Common  Sense,  and  watch- 
ing for  a  chance  to  squeeze  in,  knowing  perfectly 
well  they  would  be  ignominiously  kicked  out 
again  as  soon  as  Common  Sense  saw  them, 
flocked  in  pellmell,  —  misty,  fragmentary,  vague, 
half-asharned  of  themselves,  but  still  shouldering 
up  against  his  inner  consciousness  till  it  warmed 
with  their  contact:  —  John  Wilkes's  —  the  ugliest 
man's  in  England  —  saying,  that  with  half-an- 
hour's  start  he  would  cut  out  the  handsomest  man 
in  all  the  land  in  any  woman's  good  graces;  Ca- 
denus  —  old  and  savage  —  leading  captive  Stella 
and  Vanessa;   and    then   the    stray  line    of  a   bal- 


112       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

lad,  —  "  And  a  winning  tongue  had  he,"  —  as  much 
as  to  say,  it  isn't  looks,  after  all,  but  cunning 
words,  that  win  our  Eves  over,  —  just  as  of  old, 
when  it  was  the  worst-looking  brute  of  the  lot 
that  got  our  grandmother  to  listen  to  his  stuff, 
and  so  did  the  mischief. 

Ah,  dear  me !  We  rehearse  the  part  of  Hercules 
with  his  club,  subjugating  man  and  woman  in  our 
fancy,  the  first  by  the  weight  of  it,  and  the  second 
by  our  handling  of  it,  —  we  rehearse  it,  I  say,  by 
our  own  hearth-stones,  with  the  cold  poker  as  our 
club,  and  the  exercise  is  easy.  But  when  we 
come  to  real  life,  the  poker  is  in  the  fire,  and,  ten 
to  one,  if  we  would  grasp  it,  we  find  it  too  hot 
to  hold;  —  lucky  for  us,  if  it  is  not  white-hot,  and 
we  do  not  have  to  leave  the  skin  of  our  hands 
sticking  to  it  when  we  fling  it  down  or  drop  it 
with  a  loud  or  silent  cry ! 

1   am  frightened   when    I  find   into   what  a 

labyrinth  of  human  character  and  feeling  I  am 
winding.  I  meant  to  tell  my  thoughts,  and  to 
throw  in  a  few  studies  of  manner  and  costume  as 
they  pictured  themselves  for  me  from  day  to  day. 
Chance  has  thrown  together  at  the  table  with  me 
a  number  of  persons  who  are  worth  studying,  and 
I  mean  not  only  to  look  on  them,  but,  if  I  can, 
through  them.  You  can  get  any  man's  or  wom- 
an's secret,  whose  sphere  is  circumscribed  by  your 
own,    if    you   will    only    look    patiently    on    them 


THE  PBOFESSOB    AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       113 

long  enough.  Nature  is  always  applying  her  re- 
agents to  character,  if  you  will  take  the  pains  to 
watch  her.  Our  studies  of  character,  to  change 
the  image,  are  very  much  like  the  surveyor's  tri- 
angulation  of  a  geographical  province  We  get  a 
base-line  in  organization,  always  ;  then  we  get  an 
angle  by  sighting  some  distant  object  to  which 
the  passions  or  aspirations  of  the  subject  of  our 
observation  are  tending ;  then  another ;  —  and  so 
we  construct  our  first  triangle.  Once  fix  a  man's 
ideals,  and  for  the  most  part  the  rest  is  easy.  A 
wants  to  die  worth  half  a  million.  Good.  B 
(female)  wants  to  catch  him,  —  and  outlive  him. 
All  right.     Minor  details  at  our  leisure. 

What  is  it,  of  all  your  experiences,  of  all  your 
thoughts,  of  all  your  misdoings,  that  lies  at  the 
very  bottom  of  the  great  heap  of  acts  of  con- 
sciousness which  make  up  your  past  life  ?  What 
should  you  most  dislike  to  tell  your  nearest 
friend  ?  —  Be  so  good  as  to  pause  for  a  brief 
space,  and  shut  the  volume  you  hold  with  your 
finger  between  the  pages. Oh,  that  is  it ! 

What  a  confessional  I  have  been  sitting  at, 
with  the  inward  ear  of  my  soul  open,  as  the  mul- 
titudinous whisper  of  my  involuntary  confidants 
came  back  to  me  like  the  reduplicated  echo  of  a 
cry  among  the  craggy  hills! 

At  the  house  of   a  friend   where    I    once    pa 
the  night  was  one  of  those  stately  upright  cabinet- 


114       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

desks  and  cases  of  drawers  which  were  not  rare 
in  prosperous  families  during  the  last  century.  It 
had  held  the  clothes  and  the  books  and  the  papers 
of  generation  after  generation.  The  hands  that 
opened  its  drawers  had  grown  withered,  shrivelled, 
and  at  last  been  folded  in  death.  The  children 
that  played  with  the  lower  handles  had  got  tall 
enough  to  open  the  desk,  —  to  reach  the  upper 
shelves  behind  the  folding-doors,  —  grown  bent 
after  a  while,  —  and  then  followed  those  who  had 
gone  before,  and  left  the  old  cabinet  to  be  ran- 
sacked by  a  new  generation. 

A  boy  of  ten  or  twelve  was  looking  at  it  a  few 
years  ago,  and,  being  a  quick-witted  fellow,  saw 
that  all  the  space  was  not  accounted  for  by  the 
smaller  drawers  in  the  part  beneath  the  lid  of  the 
desk.  Prying  about  with  busy  *eyes  and  ringers, 
he  at  length  came  upon  a  spring,  on  pressing 
which,  a  secret  drawer  flew  from  its  hiding-place. 
It  had  never  been  opened  but  by  the  maker.  The 
mahogany  shavings  and  dust  were  lying  in  it  as 
when  the  artisan  closed  it,  —  and  when  I  saw  it, 
it  was  as  fresh  as  if  that  day  finished. 

Is  there  not  one  little  drawer  in  your  soul,  my 
sweet  reader,  which  no  hand  but  yours  has  ever 
opened,  and  which  none  that  have  known  you 
seem  to  have  suspected  ?  What  does  it  hold  ?  — 
A  sin  ?  —  I  hope  not. 

What    a    strange    thing    an    old    dead    sin    laid 


THE  PBOFESSOB   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       115 

away  in  a  secret  drawer  of  the  soul  is !  Must  it 
some  time  or  other  be  moistened  with  tears,  until 
it  comes  to  life  again  and  begins  to  stir  in  our 
consciousness,  —  as  the  dry  wheel-animalcule,  look- 
ing like  a  grain  of  dust,  becomes  alive,  if  it  is 
wei  with  a  drop  of  water? 

Or  is  it  a  passion?  There  are  plenty  of  withered 
men  and  women  walking  about  the  streets  who 
have  the  secret  drawer  in  their  hearts,  which,  if  it 
were  opened,  would  show  as  fresh  as  it  was  when 
they  were  in  the  flush  of  youth  and  its  first  trem- 
bling emotions.  What  it  held  will,  perhaps,  never 
be  known,  until  they  are  dead  and  gone,  and 
some  curious  eye  lights  on  an  old  yellow  letter 
with  the  fossil  footprints  of  the  extinct  passion 
trodden  thick  all  over  it. 

There  is  not  a  boarder  at  our  table,  I  firmly 
believe,  excepting  the  young  girl,  who  has  not  a 
story  of  the  heart  to  tell,  if  one  could  only  get  the 
secret  drawer  open.  Even  this  arid  female,  whose 
armor  of  black  bombazine  looks  stronger  against 
the  shafts  of  love  than  any  cuirass  of  triple  brass, 
has  had  her  sentimental  history,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken. I  will  tell  you  my  reason  for  suspect- 
ing it. 

Like  many  other  old  women,  she  shows  a  great 
nervousness  and  restlessness  whenever  I  venture 
to  express  any  opinion  upon  a  class  of  subjects 
which  can    hardly  be    said   to    belong   to    any  man 


116       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

or  set  of  men  as  their  strictly  private  property, — 
not  even  to  the  clergy,  or  the  newspapers  com- 
monly called  "  religious."  Now,  although  it  would 
be  a  great  luxury  to  me  to  obtain  my  opinions 
by  contract,  ready-made,  from  a  professional  man, 
and  although  I  have  a  constitutional  kindly  feel- 
ing to  all  sorts  of  good  people  which  would  make 
me  happy  to  agree  with  all  their  beliefs,  if  that 
were  possible,  still  I  must  have  an  idea,  now  and 
then,  as  to  the  meaning  of  life ;  and  though  the 
only  condition  of  peace  in  this  world  is  to  have 
no  ideas,  or,  at  least,  not  to  express  them,  with 
reference  to  such  subjects,  I  can't  afford  to  pay 
quite  so  much  as  that  even  for  peace. 

I  find  that  there  is  a  very  prevalent  opinion 
among  the  dwellers  on  the  shores  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton's  Ocean  of  Truth,  that  salt  fish,  which 
have  been  taken  from  it  a  good  while  ago,  split 
open,  cured  and  dried,  are  the  only  proper  and 
allowable  food  for  reasonable  people.  I  maintain, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  there  are  a  number  of  live 
fish  still  swimming  in  it,  and  that  every  one  of  us 
has  a  right  to  see  if  he  cannot  catch  some  of 
them.  Sometimes  I  please  myself  with  the  idea 
that  I  have  landed  an  actual  living  fish,  small, 
perhaps,  but  with  rosy  gills  and  silvery  scales. 
Then  I  find  the  consumers  of  nothing  but  the 
salted  and  dried  article  insist  that  it  is  poisonous, 
simply  because  it  is    alive,  and   cry  out  to   people 


Tin:    PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      117 

not  to  touch  it.  1  have  not  found,  however,  that 
people  mind  them  much. 

The  poor  boarder  in  bombazine  is  my  dyna- 
mometer. I  Try  every  questionable  proposition  on 
her.  If  she  winces,  I  must  be  prepared  for  an 
outcry  from  the  other  old  women.  I  frightened 
her,  the  other  day,  by  saying  that  faith,  as  an  in- 
tellectual state,  was  self-reliance,  which,  if  you 
have  a  metaphysical  turn,  you  will  find  is  not  so 
much  of  a  paradox  as  it  sounds  at  first.  So  she 
sent  me  a  book  to  read  which  was  to  cure  me 
of  that  error.  It  was  an  old  book,  and  looked  as 
if  it  had  not  been  opened  for  a  long  time.  What 
should  drop  out  of  it,  one  day,  but  a  small  heart- 
shaped  paper,  containing  a  lock  of  that  straight, 
coarse,  brown  hair  which  sets  off  the  sharp  faces 
of  so  many  thin-flanked,  large-handed  bumpkins  ? 
I  read  upon  the  paper  the  name  "  Hiram."  — 
Love  !  love !  love  !  —  everywhere  !  everywhere  !  — 
under  diamonds  and  housemaids'  "jewelry,"  —  lift- 
ing the  marrowy  camel's-hair,  and  rustling  even 
the  black  bombazine  !  —  Xo,  no,  —  I  think  she 
never  was  pretty,  but  she  was  young  once,  and 
wore  bright  ginghams,  and,  perhaps,  gay  merinos. 
We  shall  find  that  the  poor  little  crooked  man 
baa  been  in  love,  or  is  in  love,  or  will  be  in  love 
before  we  have  done  with  him,  for  aught  that  I 
know ! 

Romance!     Was  there  ever  a  boarding-house  in 


118       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

the  world  where  the  seemingly  prosaic  table  had 
not  a  living  fresco  for  its  background,  where  yon 
could  see,  if  you  had  eyes,  the  smoke  and  fire  of 
some  upheaving  sentiment,  or  the  dreary  craters 
of  smouldering  or  burnt-out  passions  ?  You  look 
on  the  black  bombazine  and  high-necked  decorum 
of  your  neighbor,  and  no  more  think  of  the  real 
life  that  underlies  this  despoiled  and  dismantled 
womanhood  than  you  think  of  a  stone  trilobite  as 
having  once  been  full  of  the  juices  and  the 
nervous  thrills  of  throbbing  and  self-conscious  be- 
ing. There  is  a  wild  creature  under  that  long 
yellow  pin  which  serves  as  brooch  for  the  bomba- 
zine cuirass,  —  a  wild  creature,  which  I  venture  to 
say  would  leap  in  his  cage,  if  I  should  stir  him, 
quiet  as  you  think  him.  A  heart  which  has  been 
domesticated  by  matrimony  and  maternity  is  as 
tranquil  as  a  tame  bulfinch ;  but  a  wild  heart 
which  has  never  been  fairly  broken  in  flutters 
fiercely  long  after  you  think  time  has  tamed  it 
down,  —  like  that  purple  finch  I  had  the  other 
day,  which  could  not  be  approached  without  such 
palpitations  and  frantic  flings  against  the  bars  of 
his  cage,  that  I  had  to  send  him  back  and  get  a 
little  orthodox  canary  which  had  learned  to  be 
quiet  and  never  mind  the  wires  or  his  keeper's 
handling.  I  will  tell  you  my  wicked,  but  half 
involuntary  experiment  on  the  wild  heart  under 
the  faded  bombazine. 


THE   PROFESSOB   AF  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      119 

Was  there  ever  a  person  in  the  room  with  yon, 
marked    by   any    special    weakness    or    peculiarity) 

with  whom  you  could  be  two  hours  and  not  touch 
the  infirm  spot?  I  confess  the  most  frightful  ten- 
dency to  do  just  this  thing.  If  a  man  has  a 
brogue,  I  am  sure  to  catch  myself  imitating  it. 
If  another  is  lame,  I  follow  him,  or,  worse  than 
that,  go  before  him,  limping.  I  could  never  meet 
an  Irish  gentleman  —  if  it  had  been  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  himself  —  without  stumbling  upon  the 
word  "  Paddy,"  —  which  I  use  rarely  in  my  com- 
mon talk. 

I  have  been  worried  to  know  whether  this  was 
owing  to  some  innate  depravity  of  disposition  on 
my  part,  some  malignant  torturing  instinct,  which, 
under  different  circumstances,  might  have  made  a 
Fijian  anthropophagus  of  me,  or  to  some  law  of 
thought  for  which  I  was  not  answerable.  It  is,  I 
am  convinced,  a  kind  of  physical  fact  like  endos- 
mosis,  with  which  some  of  you  are  acquainted.  A 
thin  film  of  politeness  separates  the  unspoken  and 
unspeakable  current  of  thought  from  the  stream 
of  conversation.  After  a  time  one  begins  to  soak 
through  and  mingle    with  the  other. 

We  were  talking  about  names,  one  day.  —  Was 
there  ever  anything, —  I  said,  —  like  the  Yankee 
for  inventing  the  most  uncouth,  pretentious,  de- 
testable  appellations,  —  inventing  or  finding  them, 
—  -ince    the    time    of    Praise-God    Barebones  ?       I 


120       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

heard  a  country-boy  once  talking  of  another  whom 
he  called  Elpit,  as  I  understood  him.  Elbridge 
is  common  enough,  but  this  sounded  oddly.  It 
seems  the  boy  was  christened  Lord  Pitt,  —  and 
called,  for  convenience,  as  above.  I  have  heard 
a  charming  little  girl,  belonging  to  an  intelligent 
family  in  the  country,  called  Anges  invariably ; 
doubtless  intended  for  Agnes.  Names  are  cheap. 
How  can  a  man  name  an  innocent  new-born  child, 

that   never   did    him    any    harm,    Hiram  ? The 

poor  relation,  or  whatever  she  is,  in  bombazine, 
turned  toward  me,  but  I  was  stupid,  and  went 
on.  —  To  think  of  a  man  going  through  life  sad- 
dled with   such  an  abominable  name  as  that ! 

The  poor  relation  grew  very  uneasy.  —  I  con- 
tinued; for  I  never  thought  of  all  this  till  after- 
wards.—  I  knew  one  young  fellow,  a  good  many 
years  ago,  by  the  name   of  Hiram 

What's    got   into    you,    Cousin,  —  said    our 

landlady,  —  to  look  so? — There!  you've  upset  your 
teacup ! 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  me  what  I  had  been 
doing,  and  I  saw  the  poor  woman  had  her  hand 
at  her  throat ;  she  was  half-choking  with  the 
"  hysteric  ball,"  —  a  very  odd  symptom,  as  you 
know,  which  nervous  women  often  complain  of. 
What  business  had  I  to  be  trying  experiments  on 
this  forlorn  old  soul?  I  had  a  great  deal  better 
be  watching  that  young  girl. 


THE  PBOFESSOB   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       121 

Ah,  the  young  -girl!  I  am  sure  that  she  can 
hide  nothing  from  me.  Her  skin  is  so  transparent 
that  one  can  almost  count  her  heart-beats  by  the 
flushes  they  send  into  her  cheeks.  She  does  not 
seem  to  be  shy,  either.  I  think  she  does  not  know 
enough  of  danger  to  be  timid.  She  seems  to  me 
like  one  of  those  birds  that  travellers  tell  of,  found 
in  remote,  uninhabited  islands,  who,  having  never 
received  any  wrong  at  the  hand  of  man,  show  no 
alarm  at  and  hardly  any  particular  consciousness 
of  his  presence. 

The  first  thing  will  be  to  see  how  she  and  our 
little  deformed  gentleman  get  along  together ;  for, 
as  I  have  told  you,  they  sit  side  by  side.  The 
next  thing  will  be  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  duenna, 
—  the  "  Model  "  and  so  forth,  as  the  white-neck- 
cloth called  her.  The  intention  of  that  estimable 
lady  is,  I  understand,  to  launch  her  and  leave  her. 
I  suppose  there  is  no  help  for  it,  and  I  don't 
doubt  this  young  lady  knows  how  to  take  care  of 
herself,  but  I  do  not  like  to  see  young  girls  turned 
loose  in  boarding-houses.  Look  here  now!  There 
is  that  jewel  of  his  race,  whom  I  have  called  for 
convenience  the  Koh-i-noor,  (you  understand  it  is 
quite  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  use  the  family 
names  of  our  boarders,  unless  I  want  to  get  into 
trouble,)  —  I  say,  the  gentleman  with  the  diamond 
\-  looking  very  often  and  very  intently,  it  seems 
to  me,  down  toward  the  farther  corner  of  the  table, 


122       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

where  sits  our  amber-eyed  blonde.  The  landlady's 
daughter  does  not  look  pleased,  it  seems  to  me,  at 
this,  nor  at  those  other  attentions  which  the  gen- 
tleman referred  to  has,  as  I  have  learned,  pressed 
upon  the  newly-arrived  young  person.  The  land- 
lady made  a  communication  to  me,  within  a  few 
days  after  the  arrival  of  Miss  Iris,  which  I  will 
repeat  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance. 

He,  (the  person  I  have  been  speaking  of,)  — 
she  said,  —  seemed  to  be  kinder  hankerin'  round 
after  that  young  woman.  It  had  hurt  her  daugh- 
ter's feelin's  a  good  deal,  that  the  gentleman  she 
was  a-keepin'  company  with  should  be  offerin' 
tickets  and  tryin'  to  send  presents  to  them  that 
he'd  never  know'd  till  jest  a  little  spell  ago, — 
and  he  as  good  as  merried,  so  fur  as  solemn 
promises  went,  to  as  respectable  a  young  lady,  if 
she  did  say  so,  as  any  there  was  round,  who- 
somever  they  might  be. 

Tickets  !  presents !  —  said  I.  —  What  tickets,  what 
presents  has  he  had  the  impertinence  to  be  offer- 
ing to  that  young  lady  ? 

Tickets  to  the  Museum,  —  said  the  landlady. — 
There  is  them  that's  glad  enough  to  go  to  the 
Museum,  when  tickets  is  given  'em  ;  but  some  of 
'em  ha'n't  had  a  ticket  sence  Cenderilla  was  play- 
ed, —  and  now  he  must  be  offerin'  'em  to  this 
ridiculous  young  pain  tress,  or  whatever  she  is, 
that's    come    to    make    more    mischief    than    her 


TlIK   PBOFESSOB    AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       123 

board's  worth.  But  it  a'n't  her  fault,  —  said  the 
landlady,  relenting ;  —  and  that  aunt  of  hers,  or 
whatever  she  is,  served  him  right  enough. 

Why,  what  did  she  do  ? 

Do  ?  Why,  she  took  it  up  in  the  tongs  and 
dropped  it  out  o'  winder. 

Dropped  ?  dropped  what  ?  —  I  said. 

Why,  the  soap,  —  said  the  landlady. 

It  appeared  that  the  Koh-i-noor,  to  ingratiate 
him<elf,  had  sent  an  elegant  package  of  perfumed 
soap,  directed  to  Miss  Iris,  as  a  delicate  expression 
of  a  lively  sentiment  of  admiration,  and  that,  after 
having  met  with  the  unfortunate  treatment  referred 
to,  it  was  picked  up  by  Master  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, who  appropriated  it,  rejoicing,  and  indulged  in 
most  unheard-of  and  inordinate  ablutions  in  con- 
sequence, so  that  his  hands  were  a  frequent  sub- 
ject of  maternal  congratulation,  and  he  smelt  like 
a  civet-cat  for  weeks   after  his  great  acquisition. 

After  watching  daily  for  a  time,  I  think  I  can 
see  clearly  into  the  relation  which  is  growing  up 
between  the  little  gentleman  and  the  young  lady. 
She  shows  a  tenderness  to  him  that  I  can't  help 
being  interested  in.  If  he  was  her  crippled  child, 
instead  of  being  more  than  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,  she  could  not  treat  him  more  kindly.  The 
landlady's  daughter  said,  the  other  day,  she  be- 
lieved that  girl  was  settin'  her  cap  for  the  Little 
Gentleman. 


124       THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Some  of  them  young  folks  is  very  artful,  —  said 
her  mother,  —  and  there  is  them  that  would  merry 
Lazarus,  if  he'd  only  picked  up  crumbs  enough. 
I  don't  think,  though,  this  is  one  of  that  sort ; 
she's  kinder  childlike,  —  said  the  landlady,  —  and 
maybe  never  had  any  dolls  to  play  with  ;  for  they 
say  her  folks  was  poor  before  Ma'am  undertook 
to  see  to  her  teachin'  and  board  her  and  clothe 
her. 

I  could  not  help  overhearing  this  conversation. 
"  Board  her  and  clothe  her !  "  —  speaking  of  such 
a  young  creature  !  Oh,  dear !  —  Yes,  —  she  must 
be  fed, — just  like  Bridget,  maid-of-all-work  at  this 
establishment.  Somebody  must  pay  for  it.  Some- 
body has  a  right  to  watch  her  and  see  how  much 
it  takes  to  "  keep "  her,  and  growl  at  her,  if  she 
has  too  good  an  appetite.  Somebody  has  a  right 
to  keep  an  eye  on  her  and  take  care  that  she  does 
not  dress  too  prettily.  No  mother  to  see  her  own 
youth  over  again  in  those  fresh  features  and  rising 
reliefs  of  half-sculptured  womanhood,  and,  seeing 
its  loveliness,  forget  her  lessons  of  neutral-tinted 
propriety,  and  open  the  cases  that  hold  her  own 
ornaments  to  find  for  her  a  necklace  or  a  bracelet 
or  a  pair  of  ear-rings,  —  those  golden  lamps  that 
light  up  the  deep,  shadowy  dimples  on  the  cheeks 
of  young  beauties,  —  swinging  in  a  semibarbaric 
splendor  that  carries  the  wild  fancy  to  Abyssinian 
queens   and   musky    Odalisques!       I   don't    believe 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.   125 

any  woman  has  utterly  given  up  the  great  firm 
of  Mundus  &   Co.,  so  long  as  she  wears  ear-ring<. 

I  think  Iris  loves  to  hear  the  Little  Gentleman 
talk.  She  smiles  sometimes  at  his  vehement  state- 
ments, but  never  laughs  at  him.  When  he  speaks 
to  her,  she  keeps  her  eye  always  steadily  upon 
him.  This  may  be  only  natural  good-breeding,  so 
to  speak,  but  it  is  worth  noticing.  I  have  often 
observed  that  vulgar  persons,  and  public  audiences 
of  inferior  collective  intelligence,  have  this  in  com- 
mon :  the  least  thing  draws  off  their  minds,  when 
you  are  speaking  to  them.  I  love  this  young 
creature's  rapt  attention  to  her  diminutive  neighbor 
while  he  is  speaking. 

He  is  evidently  pleased  with  it.  For  a  day  or 
two  after  she  came,  he  was  silent  and  seemed 
nervous  and  excited.  Now  he  is  fond  of  getting 
the  talk  into  his  own  hands,  and  is  obviously  con- 
scious that  he  has  at  least  one  interested  listener. 
Once  or  twice  I  have  seen  marks  of  special  atten- 
tion to  personal  adornment, —  a  ruffled  shirt-bosom, 
one  day,  and  a  diamond  pin  in  it, — not  so  very 
large  as  the  Koh-i-noor's,  but  more  lustrous.  1 
mentioned  the  death's-head  ring  he  wears  on  his 
right  hand.  I  was  attracted  by  a  very  handsome 
red  stone,  a  ruby  or  carbuncle  or  something  of  the 
sort,  to  notice  his  left  hand,  the  other  day.  It  is 
a  handsome  hand,  and  confirms  my  suspicion  that 
the  cast  mentioned  was  taken  from  his  arm.     After 


126      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

all,  this  is  just  what  I  should  expect.  It  is  not 
very  uncommon  to  see  the  upper  limbs,  or  one  of 
them,  running  away  with  the  whole  strength,  and, 
therefore,  with  the  whole  beauty,  which  we  should 
never  have  noticed,  if  it  had  been  divided  equally 
between  all  four  extremities.  If  it  is  so,  of  course 
he  is  proud  of  his  one  strong  and  beautiful  arm; 
that  is  human  nature.  I  am  afraid  he  can  hardly 
help  betraying  his  favoritism,  as  people  who  have 
any  one  showy  point  are  apt  to  do,  —  especially 
dentists  with  handsome  teeth,  who  always  smile 
back  to  their  last  molars. 

Sitting,  as  he  does,  next  to  the  young  girl,  and 
next  but  one  to  the  calm  lady  who  has  her  in 
charge,  he  cannot  help  seeing  their  relations  to 
each  other. 

That  is  an  admirable  woman,  Sir,  —  he  said  to 
me  one  day,  as  we  sat  alone  at  the  table  after 
breakfast, — an  admirable  woman,  Sir,  —  and  I  hate 
her. 

Of  course,  I  begged  an  explanation. 

An  admirable  woman,  Sir,  because  she  does 
good  things,  and  even  kind  things, — takes  care  of 
this  —  this  —  young  lady  —  we  have  here,  talks  like 
a  sensible  person,  and  always  looks  as  if  she  was 
doing  her  duty  with  all  her  might.  I  hate  her 
because  her  voice  sounds  as  if  it  never  trembled, 
and  her  eyes  look  as  if  she  never  knew  what  it 
was  to  cry.     Besides,  she  looks    at   me,  Sir,  stares 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TAP,!. E.       127 

at  me,  as  if  she  wanted  to  get  an  image  of  me 
for  some  gallery  in  her  brain,  —  and  we  don't  love 

to   be  looked  at   in   this  way,  we   thai    have I 

hate  her,  —  I  hare  her,  —  her  eyes  kill  me,  —  it  is 
like  being  stabbed  with  icicles  to  be  looked  at  so, 
—  the  sooner  she  goes  home,  the  better.  I  don't 
want  a  woman  to  weigh  me  in  a  balance ;  there 
are  men  enough  for  that  sort  of  work.  The  judi- 
cial character  isn't  captivating  in  females,  Sir.  A 
woman  fascinates  a  man  quite  as  often  by  what 
she  overlooks  as  by  what  she  sees.  Love  prefers 
twilight  to  daylight ;  and  a  man  doesn't  think 
much  of,  nor  care  much  for,  a  woman  outside  of 
his  household,  unless  he  can  couple  the  idea  of 
love,  past,  present,  or  future,  with  her.  I  don't 
believe  the  Devil  would  give  half  as  much  for  the 
services  of  a  sinner  as  he  would  for  those  of  one 
of  these  folks  that  are  always  doing  virtuous  acts 
in  a  way  to  make  them  unpleasing.  —  That  young 
girl  wants  a  tender  nature  to  cherish  her  and  give 
her  a  chance  to  put  out  her  leaves, — sunshine, 
and  not  east  winds. 

He  was  silent,  —  and  sat  looking  at  his  hand- 
some left  hand  with  the  red  stone  ring  upon  it. — 
Is  he  going  to  fall  in  love  with  Iris? 

Here  are  some  lines  I  read  to  the  boarders  the 
other  day  :  — 


128       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


THE   CROOKED  FOOTPATH. 

Ah,  here  it  is !  the  sliding  rail 

That  marks  the  old  remembered  spot, — 
The  gap  that  struck  our  schoolboy  trail, — 

The  crooked  path  across  the  lot. 

It  left  the  road  by  school  and  church, 
A  pencilled  shadow,  nothing  more, 

That  parted  from  the  silver  birch 
And  ended  at  the  farmhouse  door. 

No  line  or  compass  traced  its  plan ; 

With  frequent  bends  to  left  or  right, 
In  aimless,  wayward  curves  it  ran, 

But  always  kept  the  door  in  sight. 

The  gabled  porch,  with  woodbine  green, — 
The  broken  millstone  at  the  sill,  — 

Though  many  a  rood  might  stretch  between, 
The  truant  child  could  see  them  still. 

No  rocks  across  the  pathway  lie, — 
No  fallen  trunk  is  o'er  it  thrown,  — 

And  yet  it  winds,  we  know  not  why, 
And  turns  as  if  for  tree  or  stone. 

Perhaps  some  lover  trod  the  way 

With  shaking  knees  and  leaping  heart,  — 

And  so  it  often  runs  astray 

With  sinuous  sweep  or  sudden  start. 


THE  PBOFESSOU   AT  THK  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       121 

Or  one,  perchance,  with  clouded  brain 

From  some  unholy  banquet  reeled, — 
And  since,  our  devious  steps  maintain 

His  track  across  the  trodden  field. 

Naj,  deem  not  thus,  —  no  earthborn  will 

Could  ever  trace  a  faultless  line ; 
Our  truest  steps  are  human  still,  — 

To  walk  unswerving  were  divine ! 

Truants  from  love,  we  dream  of  wrath ;  — 

Oh,  rather  let  us  trust  the  more ! 
Through  all  the  wanderings  of  the  path, 

We  still  can  see  our  Father's  door! 


V. 

TJie  Professor  finds  a  Fly  in  his   Teacup. 

I  have  a  long  theological  talk  to  relate,  which 
must  be  dull  reading  to  some  of  my  young  and 
vivacious  friends.  I  don't  know,  however,  that 
any  of  them  have  entered  into  a  contract  to  read 
all  that  I  write,  or  that  I  have  promised  always 
to  write  to  please  them.  "What  if  I  should  some- 
times write  to  please  myself  ? 

■  you  must  know  that  there  are  a  great 
many  things  which  interest  me,  to  some  of  which 
this    or    that    particular    class    of   readers    may    be 


130       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

totally  indifferent.  I  love  Nature,  and  human 
nature,  its  thoughts,  affections,  dreams,  aspirations, 
delusions,  —  Art  in  all  its  forms,  —  virtu  in  all  its 
eccentricities,  —  old  stories  from  black-letter  vol- 
umes and  yellow  manuscripts,  and  new  projects 
out  of  hot  brains  not  yet  imbedded  in  the  snows 
of  age.  I  love  the  generous  impulses  of  the  re- 
former ;  but  not  less  does  my  imagination  feed 
itself  upon  the  old  litanies,  so  often  warmed  by 
the  human  breath  upon  which  they  were  wafted 
to  Heaven  that  they  glow  through  our  frames  like 
our  own  heart's  blood.  I  hope  I  love  good  men 
and  women ;  I  know  that  they  never  speak  a 
word  to  me,  even  if  it  be  of  question  or  blame, 
that  I  do  not  take  pleasantly,  if  it  is  expressed 
with  a  reasonable  amount  of  human  kindness. 

I  have  before  me  at  this  time  a  beautiful  and 
affecting  letter,  which  I  have  hesitated  to  answer, 
though  the  postmark  upon  it  gave  its  direction, 
and  the  name  is  one  which  is  known  to  all,  in 
some  of  its  representatives.  It  contains  no  re- 
proach, only  a  delicately-hinted  fear.  Speak  gen- 
tly, as  this  dear  lady  has  spoken,  and  there  is  no 
heart  so  insensible  that  it  does  not  answer  to  the 
appeal,  no  intellect  so  virile  that  it  does  not  own 
a  certain  deference  to  the  claims  of  age,  of  child- 
hood, of  sensitive  and  timid  natures,  when  they 
plead  with  it  not  to  look  at  those  sacred  things 
by  the   broad   daylight   which   they   see   in   mystic 


Till-:   PROFESSOR   AT    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       131 

shadow.  How  grateful  would  it  be  to  make  per- 
petual peace  with  these  pleading  saints  and  their 
confessors,  by  the  simple  act  that  silences  all  com- 
plainings !  Sleep,  sleep,  sleep !  says  the  Arch- 
Enchantress  of  them  all,  —  and  pours  her  dark 
and  potent  anodyne,  distilled  over  the  fires  that 
consumed  her  foes,  —  its  large,  round  drops  chang- 
ing, as  we  look,  into  the  beads  of  her  convert's 
rosary !  Silence !  the  pride  of  reason !  cries  another, 
whose  whole  life  is  spent  in  reasoning  down  rea- 
son. 

I  hope  I  love  good  people,  not  for  their  sake, 
but  for  my  own.  And  most  assuredly,  if  any  deed 
of  wrong  or  word  of  bitterness  led  me  into  an  act 
of  disrespect  towards  that  enlightened  and  excel- 
lent class  of  men  who  make  it  their  calling  to 
teach  goodness  and  their  duty  to  practise  it,  I 
should  feel  that  I  had  done  myself  an  injury 
rather  than  them.  Go  and  talk  with  any  profes- 
sional man  holding  any  of  the  mediaeval  creeds, 
choosing  one  who  wears  upon  his  features  the 
mark  of  inward  and  outward  health,  who  looks 
cheerful,  intelligent,  and  kindly,  and  see  how  all 
your  prejudices  melt  away  in  his  presence!  It  is 
impossible  to  come  into  intimate  relations  with  a 
large,  sweet  nature,  such  as  you  may  often  find 
in  this  class,  without  longing  to  be  at  one  with 
it  in  all  its  modes  of  being  and  believing.  But 
does  it  not  occur  to    you  that  one  may  love  truth 


132       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

as  he  sees  it,  and  his  race  as  he  views  it,  better 
than  even  the  sympathy  and  approbation  of  many 
good  men  whom  he  honors,  —  better  than  sleeping 
to  the  sound  of  the  Miserere  or  listening  to  the 
repetition  of  an  effete  Confession  of  Faith  ? 

The  three  learned  professions  have  but  recently 
emerged  from  a  state  of  quasi  barbarism.  None 
of  them  like  too  well  to  be  told  of  it,  but  it  must 
be  sounded  in  their  ears  whenever  they  put  on 
airs.  "When  a  man  has  taken  an  overdose  of 
laudanum,  the  doctors  tell  us  to  place  him  be- 
tween two  persons  who  shall  make  him  walk  up 
and  down  incessantly;  and  if  he  still  cannot  be 
kept  from  going  to  sleep,  they  say  that  a  lash  or 
two  over  his  back  is  of  great  assistance. 

So  we  must  keep  the  doctors  awake  by  telling 
them  that  they  have  not  yet  shaken  off  astrology 
and  the  doctrine  of  signatures,  as  is  shown  by  the 
form  of  their  prescriptions,  and  their  use  of  nitrate 
of  silver,  which  turns  epileptics  into  Ethiopians. 
If  that  is  not  enough,  they  must  be  given  over 
to  the  scourgers,  who  like  their  task  and  get  good 
fees  for  it.  A  few  score  years  ago,  sick  people 
were  made  to  swallow  burnt  toads  and  powdered 
earthworms  and  the  expressed  juice  of  wood-lice. 
The  physician  of  Charles  I.  and  II.  prescribed 
abominations  not  to  be  named.  Barbarism,  as 
bad  as  that  of  Congo  or  Ashantee.  Traces  of 
this  barbarism  linger  even  in  the   greatly  improved 


TI1K    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.        133 

medical  science  of  our  century.  So  while  the 
solemn  farce  of  over-drugging  is  going  on,  the 
world  over,  the  harlequin  pseudo-science  jumps  on 
to  the  stage,  whip  in  hand,  with  half-a-dozen 
somersets,  and  begins  laving  about   him. 

In  1817,  perhaps  you  remember,  the  law  of 
wager  by  battle  was  unrepealed,  and  the  rascally 
murderous,  and  worse  than  murderous,  clown, 
Abraham  Thornton,  put  on  his  gantlet  in  open 
court  and  defied  the  appellant  to  lift  the  other 
which  he  threw  down.  It  was  not  until  the  reign 
of  George  II.  that  the  statutes  against  witchcraft 
were  repealed.  As  for  the  English  Court  of  Chan- 
cery, we  know  that  its  antiquated  abuses  form  one 
of  the  staples  of  common  proverbs  and  popular 
literature.  So  the  laws  and  the  lawyers  have  to 
be  watched  perpetually  by  public  opinion  as  much 
as  the  doctors  do. 

I  don't  think  the  other  profession  is  an  excep- 
tion. When  the  Reverend  Mr.  Cauvin  and  his 
associates  burned  my  distinguished  scientific  broth- 
er,—  he  was  burned  with  green  fagots,  which  made 
it  rather  slow  and  painful,  —  it  appears  to  me  they 
were  in  a  state  of  religious  barbarism.  The  dog- 
mas of  such  people  about  the  Father  of  Mankind 
and  his  creatures  are  of  no  more  account  in  my 
opinion  than  those  of  a  council  of  Aztecs.  If  a 
man  picks  your  pocket,  do  you  not  consider  him 
thereby  disqualified  to  pronounce  any  authoritative 


134      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

opinion  on  matters  of  ethics  ?  If  a  man  hangs  my 
ancient  female  relatives  for  sorcery,  as  they  did  in 
this  neighborhood  a  little  while  ago,  or  burns  my 
instructor  for  not  believing  as  he  does,  I  care  no 
more  for  his  religious  edicts  than  I  should  for 
those  of  any  other  barbarian. 

Of  course,  a  barbarian  may  hold  many  true 
opinions ;  but  when  the  ideas  of  the  healing  art, 
of  the  administration  of  justice,  of  Christian  love, 
could  not  exclude  systematic  poisoning,  judicial 
duelling,  and  murder  for  opinion's  sake,  I  do  not 
see  how  we  can  trust  the  verdict  of  that  time  re- 
lating to  any  subject  which  involves  the  primal 
instincts  violated  in  these  abominations  and  ab- 
surdities. — •  What  if  we  are  even  now  in  a  state 
of  sewu-barbarism  ? 

Perhaps  some  think  we  ought  not  to  talk  at 
table  about  such  things.  —  I  am  not  so  sure  of 
that.  Religion  and  government  appear  to  me  the 
two  subjects  which  of  all  others  should  belong  to 
the  common  talk  of  people  who  enjoy  the  bless- 
ings of  freedom.  Think,  one  moment.  The  earth 
is  a  great  factory-wheel,  which,  at  every  revolution 
on  its  axis,  receives  fifty  thousand  raw  souls  and 
turns  off  nearly  the  same  number  worked  up  more 
or  less  completely.  There  must  be  somewhere  a 
population  of  two  hundred  thousand  million,  per- 
haps ten  or  a  hundred  times  as  many,  earth-born 
intelligences.     Life,   as    we    call   it,  is    nothing   but 


Till!  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       135 

the  edge  of  the  boundless  ocean  of  existence 
where  it  conies  on  soundings.  In  this  view,  I  do 
not  see  anything  so  fit  to  talk  about,  or  half  so 
interesting,  as  that  which  relates  to  the  innumer- 
able majority  of  our  fellow-creatures,  the  dead-liv- 
ing, who  are  hundreds  of  thousands  to  one  of  the 
live-living,  and  with  whom  we  all  potentially  be- 
long, though  we  have  got  tangled  for  the  present 
id  some  parcels  of  fibrine,  albumen,  and  phos- 
phates, that  keep  us  on  the  minority  side  of  the 
house.  In  point  of  fact,  it  is  one  of  the  many 
results  of  Spiritualism  to  make  the  permanent 
destiny  of  the  race  a  matter  of  common  reflection 
and  discourse,  and  a  vehicle  for  the  prevailing  dis- 
belief of  the  Middle- Age  doctrines  on  the  subject. 
I  cannot  help  thinking,  when  I  remember  how 
many  conversations  my  friend  and  myself  have  re- 
ported, that  it  would  be  very  extraordinary,  if 
there  were  no  mention  of  that  class  of  subjects 
which  involves  all  that  we  have  and  all  that  we 
hope,  not  merely  for  ourselves,  but  for  the  dear 
people  whom  we  love  best, —  noble  men,  pure  and 
lovely  women,  ingenuous  children,  —  about  the 
destiny  of  nine  tenths  of  whom  you  know  the 
opinions  that  would  have  been  taught  by  those 
old  man-roasting,  woman-strangling  dogmatists. — 
However,  I  fought  this  matter  with  one  of  our 
boarders  the  other  day,  and  I  am  going  to  report 
the  conversation. 


136       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

The  divinity-student  came  down,  one  morning, 
looking  rather  more  serious  than  usual.  He  said 
little  at  breakfast-time,  but  lingered  after  the 
others,  so  that  I,  who  am  apt  to  be  long  at  the 
table,  found  myself  alone  with  him. 

When  the  rest  were  all  gone,  he  turned  his 
chair  round  towards  mine,  and  began. 

I  am  afraid,  —  he  said,  —  you  express  yourself  a 
little  too  freely  on  a  most  important  class  of  sub- 
jects. Is  there  not  danger  in  introducing  discus- 
sions or  allusions  relating  to  matters  of  religion 
into  common  discourse  ? 

Danger  to  what  ?  —  I  asked. 

Danger  to  truth,  —  he  replied,  after  a  slight 
pause. 

I  didn't  know  Truth  was  such  an  invalid, — 
I  said. —  How  long  is  it  since  she  could  only  take 
the  air  in  a  close  carriage,  with  a  gentleman  in  a 
black  coat  on  the  box?  Let  me  tell  you  a  story, 
adapted  to  young  persons,  but  which  won't  hurt 
older  ones. 

There  was    a  very  little   boy  who   had   one 

of  those  balloons  you  may  have  seen,  which  are 
filled  with  light  gas,  and  are  held  by  a  string  to 
keep  them  from  running  off  in  aeronautic  voyages 
on  their  own  account.  This  little  boy  had  a 
naughty  brother,  who  said  to  him,  one  day, — 
Brother,  pull  down  your  balloon,  so  that  I  can 
look   at   it   and   take    hold    of  it.     Then   the   little 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       137 

boy  pulled  it  down.  Now  the  naughty  brother 
had  a  sharp  pin  in  his  hand,  and  he  thrust  it  into 
the  balloon,  and  all  the  gas  oozed  out,  so  that 
there  was  nothing  left  but  a  shrivelled  skin. 

One  evening,  the  little  boy's  father  called  him 
to  the  window  to  see  the  moon,  which  pleased 
him  very  much  ;  but  presently  he  said,  —  Father, 
do  not  pull  the  string  and  bring  down  the  moon, 
for  my  naughty  brother  will  prick  it,  and  then  it 
will  all  shrivel  up  and  we  shall  not  see  it  any 
more. 

Then  his  father  laughed,  and  told  him  how  the 
moon  had  been  shining  a  good  while,  and  would 
shine  a  good  while  longer,  and  that  all  we  could 
do  was  to  keep  our  windows  clean,  never  letting 
the  dust  get  too  thick  on  them,  and  especially  to 
keep  our  eyes  open,  but  that  we  could  not  pull 
the  moon  down  with  a  string,  nor  prick  it  with  a 
pin.  —  Mind  you  this,  too,  the  moon  is  no  man's 
private  property,  but  is  seen  from  a  good  many 
parlor-windows. 

Truth   is   tough.     It  will    not   break,  like   a 

bubble,  at  a  touch  ;  nay,  you  may  kick  it  about 
all  day,  like  a  football,  and  it  will  be  round  and 
full  at  evening.  Does  not  Mr.  Bryant  say,  that 
Truth  gets  well  if  she  is  run  over  by  a  locomo- 
tive, while  Error  dies  of  lockjaw  if  she  scratches 
her  finger?  I  never  heard  that  a  mathematician 
was    alarmed    for    the    safety    of    a    demonstrated 


138-   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE, 

proposition."  I  think,  generally,  that  fear  of  open 
discussion  implies  feebleness  of  inward  conviction, 
and  great  sensitiveness  to  the  expression  of  indi- 
vidual opinion  is  a  mark  of  weakness. 

1  am  not  so   much    afraid  for   truth,  —  said 

the  divinity-student,  —  as  for  the  conceptions  of 
truth  in  the  minds  of  persons  not  accustomed  to 
judge  wisely  the  opinions  uttered  before  them. 

Would  you,  then,  banish  all  allusions  to  mat- 
ters of  this  nature  from  the  society  of  people  who 
come  together   habitually  ? 

I  would  be  very  careful  in  introducing  them, — 
said  the  divinity- student. 

Yes,  but  friends  of  yours  leave  pamphlets  in 
people's  entries,  to  be  picked  up  by  nervous  misses 
and  hysteric  housemaids,  full  of  doctrines  these 
people  do  not  approve.  Some  of  your  friends  stop 
little  children  in  the  street,  and  give  them  books, 
which  their  parents,  who  have  had  them  baptized 
into  the  Christian  fold  and  give  them  what  they 
consider  proper  religious  instruction,  do  not  think 
fit  for  them.  One  would  say  it  was  fair  enough 
to  talk  about  matters  thus  forced  upon  people's 
attention. 

The  divinity-student  could  not  deny  that  this 
was  what  might  be  called  opening  the  subject  to 
the  discussion  of  intelligent  people. 

But,  —  he  said,  —  the  greatest  objection  is  this, 
that   persons    who   have    not   made    a    professional 


THE   PROFESSOR    AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       L'"50 

study  of  theology  arc  not  competent  to  speak  on 
inch  subjects.  Suppose  a  minister  were  to  under- 
take to  express  opinions  on  medical  subjects,  for 
instance,  would  you  nor  think  he  was  going  be- 
yond his  province  \ 

I  laoghed, —  for  I  remembered  John  Wesley's 
"  sulphur  and  supplication,"  and  so  many  other 
cases  where  ministers  had  meddled  with  medicine, 
—  sometimes  well  and  sometimes  ill,  but,  as  a 
general  rule,  with  a  tremendous  lurch  to  quackery, 
owing  to  their  very  loose  way  of  admitting  evi- 
dence,—  that  I  could  not  help  being  amused. 

1  beg  your  pardon, —  I  said,  —  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  impolite,  but  I  was  thinking  of  their  cer- 
tificates to  patent  medicines.  Let  us  look  at  this 
matter. 

If  a  minister  had  attended  lectures  on  the  theory 
and  practice,  of  medicine,  delivered  by  those  who 
had  studied  it  most  deeply,  for  thirty  or  forty 
yean,  at  the  rate  of  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  a 
year,  —  if  he  had  been  constantly  reading  and 
hearing  read  the  most  approved  text-books  on  the 
subject,  —  if  he  had  seen  medicine  actually  prac- 
tised according  to  different  methods,  daily,  for  the 
same  length  of  time, —  I  should  think,  that  if  a 
person  of  average  understanding,  he  was  entitled 
to  express  an  opinion  on  the  subject  of  medicine, 
or  else  that  his  instructors  were  a  set  of  ignorant 
and  incompetent  charlatans. 


140       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

If,  before  a  medical  practitioner  would  allow  me 
to  enjoy  the  full  privileges  of  the  healing  art,  he 
expected  me  to  affirm  my  belief  in  a  considerable 
number  of  medical  doctrines,  drugs,  and  formulae, 
I  should  think  that  he  thereby  implied  my  right 
to  discuss  the  same,  and  my  ability  to  do  so,  if  I 
knew  how  to  express  myself  in  English. 

Suppose,  for  instance,  the  Medical  Society  should 
refuse  to  give  us  an  opiate,  or  to  set  a  broken 
limb,  until  we  had  signed  our  belief  in  a  certain 
number  of  propositions,  —  of  which  we  will  say 
this  is  the  first:  — 

I.  All  men's  teeth  are  naturally  in  a  state  of 
total  decay  or  caries,  and,  therefore,  no  man  can 
bite  until  every  one  of  them  is  extracted  and  a 
new  set  is  inserted  according  to  the  principles  of 
dentistry  adopted  by  this  Society. 

I,  for  one,  should  want  to  discuss  that  before 
signing  my  name  to  it,  and  I  should  say  this  :  — 
Why,  no,  that  isn't  true.  There  are  a  good  many 
bad  teeth,  we  all  know,  but  a  great  many  more 
good  ones.  You  mustn't  trust  the  dentists;  they 
are  all  the  time  looking  at  the  people  who  have 
bad  teeth,  and  such  as  are  suffering  from  tooth- 
ache. The  idea  that  you  must  pull  out  every  one 
of  every  nice  young  man  and  young  woman's 
natural  teeth !  Poh,  poh !  Nobody  believes  that. 
This  tooth  must  be  straightened,  that  must  be 
filled  with  gold,  and   this    other  perhaps  extracted; 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       Ul 

but  it  must  be  a  very  rare  case,  if  they  are  all  so 
bul  as  to  require  extraction;  and  if  they  are,  don't 
blame  the  poor  soul  for  it !  Don't  tell  us,  as  some 
old  dentists  used  to,  that  everybody  not  only 
always  has  every  tooth  in  his  head  good  for  noth- 
ing, but  that  he  ought  to  have  his  head  cut  off  as 
a  punishment  for  that  misfortune !  No,  I  can't 
sign  Number  One.     Give  us  Number  Two. 

IL  We  hold  that  no  man  can  be  well  who  does 
not  agree  with  our  views  of  the  efficacy  of  calo- 
mel, and  who  does  not  take  the  doses  of  it  pre- 
scribed in  our  tables,  as  there  directed. 

To  which  I  demur,  questioning  wThy  it  should 
be  so,  and  get  for  answer  the  two  following  :  — 

III.  Every  man  who  does  not  take  our  prepared 
calomel,  as  prescribed  by  us  in  our  Constitution 
and  By-Laws,  is  and  must  be  a  mass  of  disease 
from  head  to  foot ;  it  being  self-evident  that  he  is 
simultaneously  affected  with  Apoplexy,  Arthritis, 
Ascites,  Asphyxia,  and  Atrophy;  with  Borboryg- 
mus,  Bronchitis,  and  Bulimia ;  with  Cachexia, 
Carcinoma,  and  Cretinismus ;  and  so  on  through 
the  alphabet,  to  Xerophthalmia  and  Zona,  with 
all  possible  and  incompatible  diseases  which  are 
necessary  to  make  up  a  totally  morbid  state ;  and 
he  will  certainly  die,  if  he  does  not  take  freely  of 
our  prepared  calomel,  to  be  obtained  only  of  one 
of  our  authorized  agents. 

IV.  No  man  shall    be    allowed  to  take   our   pre- 


142      THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

pared  calomel  who  does  not  give  in  his  solemn 
adhesion  to  each  and  all  of  the  above-named  and 
the  following  propositions  (from  ten  to  a  hundred) 
and  show  his  mouth  to  certain  of  our  apothecaries, 
who  have  not  studied  dentistry,  to  examine  wheth- 
er all  his  teeth  have  been  extracted  and  a  new  set 
inserted  according  to  our  regulations. 

Of  course,  the  doctors  have  a  right  to  say  we 
shan't  have  any  rhubarb,  if  we  don't  sign  their 
articles,  and  that,  if,  after  signing  them,  we  ex- 
press doubts  (in  public)  about  any  of  them,  they 
will  cut  us  off  from  our  jalap  and  squills,  —  but 
then  to  ask  a  fellow  not  to  discuss  the  proposi- 
tions before  he  signs  them  is  what  I  should  call 
boiling  it  down  a  little  too  strong ! 

If  we  understand  them,  why  can't  we  discuss 
them  ?  If  we  can't  understand  them,  because  we 
haven't  taken  a  medical  degree,  what  the  Father 
of  Lies  do  they  ask  us  to  sign  them  for  ? 

Just  so  with  the  graver  profession.  Every  now 
and  then  some  of  its  members  seem  to  lose  com- 
mon sense  and  common  humanity.  The  laymen 
have  to  keep  setting  the  divines  right  constantly. 
Science,  for  instance,  —  in  other  words,  knowledge, 
—  is  not  the  enemy  of  religion  ;  for,  if  so,  then 
religion  would  mean  ignorance.  But  it  is  often 
the  antagonist  of  school-divinity. 

Everybody  knows  the  story  of  early  astronomy 
and  the  school-divines.     Come  down   a  little   later. 


TllK   PBOFESSOB   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       1  13 

Archbishop  Usher,  a  very  Learned  Protestant  prel- 
a.e,  tells  us  that  the  world  was  created  on  Sun- 
day, the  twenty-third  of  October,  four  thousand 
and  four  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ.  Deluge, 
December  7th,  two  thousand  three  hundred  and 
forty-eight  years  b.  c.  —  Yes,  and  the  earth  stands 
on  an  elephant,  and  the  elephant  on  a  tortoise. 
One  statement  is  as  near  the  truth  as  the  other. 

Again,  there  is  nothing  so  brutalizing  to  some- 
natures  as  moral  surgery.  I  have  often  wondered 
that  Hogarth  did  not  add  one  more  picture  to  his 
four  stages  of  Cruelty.  Those  wretched  fools,  rev- 
erend divines  and  others,  who  were  strangling  men 
and  women  for  imaginary  crimes  a  little  more 
than  a  century  ago  among  us,  were  set  right  by 
a  layman,  and  very  angry  it  made  them  to  have 
him  meddle. 

The  good  people  of  Northampton  had  a  very 
remarkable  man  for  their  clergyman,  —  a  man  with 
a  brain  as  nicely  adjusted  for  certain  mechanical 
processes  as  Babbage's  calculating  machine.  The 
commentary  of  the  laymen  on  the  preaching  and 
practising  of  Jonathan  Edwards  was,  that,  after 
twenty-three  years  of  endurance,  they  turned  him 
out  by  a  vote  of  twenty  to  one,  and  passed  a  re- 
solve that  he  should  never  preach  for  them  again. 
A  man's  logical  and  analytical  adjustments  are  of 
little  consequence,  compared  to  his  primary  rela- 
tions   with    Nature    and    truth ;    and    people    have 


144   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

sense  enough  to  find  it  out  in  the  long  run  ;  they 
know  what  "  logic  "  is  worth. 

In  that  miserable  delusion  referred  to  above,  the 
reverend  Aztecs  and  Fijian s  argued  rightly  enough 
from  their  premises,  no  doubt,  for  many  men  can 
do  this.  But  common  sense  and  common  human- 
ity were  unfortunately  left  out  from  their  premises, 
and  a  layman  had  to  supply  them.  A  hundred 
more  years  and  many  of  the  barbarisms  still  lin- 
gering among  us  will,  of  course,  have  disappeared 
like  witch-hanging.  But  people  are  sensitive  now, 
as  they  were  then.  You  will  see  by  this  extract 
that  the  Rev.  Cotton  Mather  did  not  like  inter- 
meddling with  his  business  very  well.  "  Let  the 
Levites  of  the  Lord  keep  close  to  their  Instruc- 
tions," he  says,  "  and  God  will  smite  thro*  the 
loins  of  those  that  rise  up  against  them.  I  will  re- 
port unto  you  a  Thing  which  many  Hundreds 
among  us  know  to  be  true.  The  Godly  Minister 
of  a  certain  Town  in  Connecticut,  when  he  had 
occasion  to  be  absent  on  a  Lord's  Day  from  his 
Flock,  employ'd  an  honest  Neighbour  of  some 
small  Talents  for  a  Mechanick,  to  read  a  Sermon 
out  of  some  good  Book  unto  'em.  This  Honest, 
whom  they  ever  counted  also  a  Pious  Man,  had 
so  much  conceit  of  his  Talents,  that  instead  of 
Reading  a  Sermon  appointed,  he  to  the  Surprize 
of  the  People,  fell  to  preaching  one  of  his  own. 
For  his  Text  he   took   these  Words,   '  Despise  not 


THE  FROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAK FAST-TABLE.       145 

Prophecyings* ;  and  in  his  Preachment  he  betook 
himself  to  bewail  the  Envy  of  the  Clergy  in  the 
Land,  in  that  they  did  not  wish  all  the  Lord's 
People  to  be  Prophets,  and  call  forth  Private  Breth- 
ren publiekly  to  prophesie.  While  he  was  thus  in 
the  midst  of  his  Exercise,  God  smote  him  with 
horrible  Madness;  he  was  taken  ravingly  distract- 
ed ;  the  People  were  fore'd  with  violent  Hands  to 
carry  him  home.  ...  I  will  not  mention  his 
Name:  He  was  reputed  a  Pious  Man.  — This 
is  one  of  Cotton's  "  Remarkable  Judgments  of 
God,  on  Several  Sorts  of  Offenders,"  —  and  the 
next  cases  referred  to  are  the  Judgments  on  the 
"  Abominable  Sacrilege "  of  not  paying  the  Min- 
isters'  Salaries. 

This  sort  of  thing  doesn't  do  here  and  now, 
you  see,  my  young  friend!  We  talk  about  our 
free  institutions; — they  are  nothing  but  a  coarse 
outside  machinery  to  secure  the  freedom  of  in- 
dividual thought.  The  President  of  the  United 
States  is  only  the  engine-driver  of  our  broad- 
gauge  mail-train  ;  and  every  honest,  independent 
thinker  has  a  seat  in  the  first-class  cars  behind 
him. 

There    is    something    in   what    you    say, — 

replied  the  divinity-student ;  —  and  yet  it  seems  to 
me  there  are  places  and  times  where  disputed 
doctrines  of  religion  should  not  be  introduced. 
You    would    not    attack    a    church    dogma  —  say, 

7 


146   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Total     Depravity  —  in    a    lyceum-lecture,    for    in- 
stance ? 

Certainly  not;  I  should  choose  another  place, — 
I  answered.  —  But,  mind  you,  at  this  table  I  think 
it  is  very  different.  I  shall  express  my  ideas  on 
any  subject  I  like.  The  laws  of  the  lecture-room, 
to  which  my  friends  and  myself  are  always  amen- 
able, do  not  hold  here.  I  shall  not  often  give 
arguments,  but  frequently  opinions,  —  I  trust  with 
courtesy  and  propriety,  but,  at  any  rate,  with  such 
natural  forms  of  expression  as  it  has  pleased  the 
Almighty  to  bestow  upon    me. 

A  man's  opinions,  look  you,  are  generally  of 
much  more  value  than  his  arguments.  These  last 
are  made  by  his  brain,  and  perhaps  he  does  not 
believe  the  proposition  they  tend  to  prove,  —  as  is 
often  the  case  with  paid  lawyers ;  but  opinions 
are  formed  by  our  whole  nature, — brain,  heart, 
instinct,  brute  life,  everything  all  our  experience 
has  shaped  for  us  by  contact  with  the  whole  cir- 
cle of  our  being. 

There  is  one  thing  more,  —  said  the  divini- 
ty-student,—  that  I  wished  to  speak  of;  I  mean 
that  idea  of  yours,  expressed  some  time  since,  of 
depolarizing  the  text  of  sacred  books  in  order  to 
judge  them  fairly.  May  I  ask  why  you  do  not 
try  the   experiment  yourself? 

Certainly,  —  I  replied,  —  if  it  gives  you  any 
pleasure    to    ask   foolish   questions.      I    think    the 


Till;  PBOFESSOB  AT   THE   BREAKFAST  TABLE.       1  17 

ocean  telegraph-wire  ought  to  be  laid  and  will  be 
laid,  but  I  don't  know  that  you  have  any  right  to 
ask  me  to  go  and  lay  it.  But,  for  that  matter,  1 
have  heard  a  good  deal  of  Scripture  depolarized 
in  and  out  of  the  pulpit.  I  heard  the  Rev.  Mr. 
F.  once  depolarize  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son 
in  Park-Street  Church.  Many  years  afterwards,  I 
heard  him  repeat  the  same  or  a  similar  depolarized 
version  in  Rome,  New  York.  I  heard  an  admi- 
iable  depolarization  of  the  story  of  the  young  man 
who  u  had  great  possessions "  from  the  Rev.  Mr. 
H.  in  another  pulpit,  and  felt  that  I  had  never 
half  understood  it  before.  All  paraphrases  are 
more  or  less  perfect  depolarizations.  But  I  tell 
you  this  :  the  faith  of  our  Christian  community  is 
not  robust  enough  to  bear  the  turning  of  our  most 
sacred  language  into  its  depolarized  equivalents. 
You  have  only  to  look  back  to  Dr.  Channing's 
famous  Baltimore  discourse  and  remember  the 
shrieks  of  blasphemy  with  which  it  was  greeted, 
to  satisfy  yourself  on  this  point.  Time,  time  only, 
can  gradually  wean  us  from  our  Epeolatry,  or 
word-worship,  by  spiritualizing  our  ideas  of  the 
thing  signified.  Man  is  an  idolater  or  symbol- 
worshipper  by  nature,  which,  of  course,  is  no  fault 
of  his;  but  sooner  or  later  all  his  local  and  tem- 
porary symbols  must  be  ground  to  powder,  like 
the  golden  calf,  —  word-images  as  well  as  metal 
and  wooden  ones.     Rougli  work,  iconoclasm,  —  but 


148       THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

the  only  way  to  get  at  truth.  It  is,  indeed,  as 
that  quaint  and  rare  old  discourse,  "  A  Summons 
for  Sleepers,"  hath  it,  "  no  doubt  a  thankless 
office,  and  a  verie  unthriftie  occupation;  Veritas 
odium  parity  truth  never  goeth  without  a  scratcht 
face ;  he  that  will  be  busie  with  vce  vobis,  let  him 
looke  shortly  for  coram  nobis" 

The  very  aim  and  end  of  our  institutions  is 
just  this :  that  we  may  think  what  we  like  and 
say  what  we  think. 

Think  what  we  like  !  —  said  the  divinity- 
student  ;  —  think  what  we  like !  What !  against 
all  human  and  divine  authority  ? 

Against  all  human  versions  of  its  own  or  any 
other  authority.  At  our  own  peril  always,  if  we  do 
not  like  the  right,  —  but  not  at  the  risk  of  being 
hanged  and  quartered  for  political  heresy,  or  broiled 
on  green  fagots  for  ecclesiastical  treason !  Nay, 
we  have  got  so  far,  that  the  very  word  heresy 
has  fallen   into    comparative    disuse    among  us. 

And  now,  my  young  friend,  let  us  shake  hands 
and  stop  our  discussion,  which  we  will  not  make 
a  quarrel.  I  trust  you  know,  or  will  learn,  a  great 
many  things  in  your  profession  which  we  com- 
mon scholars  do  not  know ;  but  mark  this :  when 
the  common  people  of  New  England  stop  talking 
politics  and  theology,  it  will  be  because  they  have 
got  an  Emperor  to  teach  them  the  one,  and  a 
Pope  to  teach  them  the  other! 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.   149 

That  was  the  end  of  my  long  conference  with 
the  divinity-student  The  next  morning  we  got 
talking  a  little  on  the  same  subject,  very  good- 
naturedly,  as  people  return  to  a  matter  they  have 
Talked  out. 

You  must  look  to  yourself,  —  said  the  divinity- 
student, —  if  your  democratic  notions  get  into 
print.     You  will  be  fired  into  from  all  quarters. 

If  it  were  only  a  bullet,  with  the  marksman's 
name  on  it !  —  I  said.  —  I  can't  stop  to  pick  out 
the  peep-shot  of  the  anonymous  scribblers. 

Right,  Sir  !  right !  —  said  the  Little  Gentleman. 
—  The  scamps !  I  know  the  fellows.  They  can't 
give  fifty  cents  to  one  of  the  Antipodes,  but  they 
must  have  it  jingled  along  through  everybody's 
palms  all  the  way,  till  it  reaches  him,  —  and  forty 
cents  of  it  get  spilt,  like  the  water  out  of  the  fire- 
buckets  passed  along  a  "lane"  at  a  fire;  —  but 
when  it  comes  to  anonymous  defamation,  putting 
lies  into  people's  mouths,  and  then  advertising 
those  people  through  the  country  as  the  authors 
of  them,  —  oh,  then  it  is  that  they  let  not  their 
left  hand  know  what  their  right  hand  doeth ! 

I  don't  like  Ehud's  style  of  doing  business,  Sir. 
He  comes  along  with  a  very  sanctimonious  look, 
Sir,  with  his  "  secret  errand  unto  thee,"  and  his 
"message  from  God  unto  thee,"  and  then  pulls 
out  his  hidden  knife  with  that  unsuspected  left 
hand    of    his,  —  (the    Little    Gentleman    lifted    his 


150       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

clenched  left  hand  with  the  blood-red  jewel  on 
the  ring-finger,)  —  and  runs  it,  blade  and  haft,  into 
a  man's  stomach !  Don't  meddle  with  these  fel- 
lows, Sir.  They  are  read  mostly  by  persons  whom 
you  would  not  reach,  if  you  were  to  write  ever 
so  much.  Let  'em  alone.  A  man  whose  opinions 
are  not  attacked  is  beneath  contempt. 

I  hope  so,  —  I  said.  —  I  got  three  pamphlets 
and  innumerable  squibs  flung  at  my  head  for  at- 
tacking one  of  the  pseudo-sciences,  in  former 
years.  When,  by  the  permission  of  Providence,  I 
held  up  to  the  professional  public  the  damnable 
facts  connected  with  the  conveyance  of  poison 
from  one  young  mother's  chamber  to  another's, — 
for  doing  which  humble  office  I  desire  to  be 
thankful  that  I  have  lived,  though  nothing  else 
good  should  ever  come  of  my  life,  —  I  had  to  bear 
the  sneers  of  those  whose  position  I  had  assailed, 
and,  as  I  believe,  have  at  last  demolished,  so  that 
nothing  but  the  ghosts  of  dead  women  stir  among 
the  ruins.  —  What  would  you  do,  if  the  folks 
without  names  kept  at  you,  trying  to  get  a  San 
Benito  on  to  your  shoulders  that  would  fit  you? 
—  Would  you  stand  still  in  fly-time,  or  would 
you  give  a  kick  now  and  then  ? 

Let  'em  bite !  —  said  the  Little  Gentleman ;  — 
let  'em  bite!  It  makes  'em  hungry  to  shake  'em 
off,  and  they  settle  down  again  as  thick  as  ever 
and  twice   as   savage.     Do   you   know  what    med- 


THE   FROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST- TABLE.       K>1 

tiling  with  the  folks  without  names,  as  you  call 
'em,  is  like  ?  —  It  is  like  riding  at  the  quintain, 
You  run  full  tilt  at  the  board,  but  the  board  is  on 
a  pivot,  with  a  bag  of  sand  on  an  arm  that  bal- 
ances it.  The  board  gives  way  as  soon  as  you 
touch  it;  and  before  you  have  got  by,  the  bag  of 
sand  comes  round  whack  on  the  back  of  your 
neck.  "  Ananias,"  for  instance,  pitches  into  your 
lecture,  we  will  say,  in  some  paper  taken  by 
the  people  in  your  kitchen.  Your  servants  get 
saucy  and  negligent.  If  their  newspaper  calls 
you  names,  they  need  not  be  so  particular  about 
shutting  doors  softly  or  boiling  potatoes.  So  you 
lose  your  temper,  and  come  out  in  an  article 
which  you  think  is  going  to  finish  "  Ananias," 
proving  him  a  booby  who  doesn't  know  enough 
to  understand  even  a  lyceum-lecture,  or  else  a 
person  that  tells  lies.  Now  you  think  you've 
got  him !  Not  so  fast.  "  Ananias "  keeps  still 
and  winks  to  "  Shimei,"  and  "  Shimei "  comes 
out  in  the  paper  which  they  take  in  your  neigh- 
bor's kitchen,  ten  times  worse  than  t'other  fel- 
low. If  you  meddle  with  "  Shimei,"  he  steps 
out,  and  next  week  appears  "  Rab-shakeh,"  an 
unsavory  wretch;  and  now,  at  any  rate,  you  find 
out  what  good  sense  there  was  in  Hezekiah's 
*  Answer  him  not." — No,  no,  —  keep  your  tem- 
per.—  So  saying,  the  Little  Gentleman  doubled  his 
1'j'i    fist    and    looked    at    it,    as    if    he    should    like 


152       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

to  hit  something  or  somebody  a  most  pernicious 
punch  with  it. 

Good! — said  I. —  Now  let  me  give  you  some 
axioms  I  have  arrived  at,  after  seeing  something 
of  a  great  many  kinds  of  good  folks. 

Of  a  hundred  people  of  each  of  the  dif- 
ferent leading  religious  sects,  about  the  same  pro- 
portion will  be  safe  and  pleasant  persons  to  deal 
and  to   live  with. 

There  are,  at  least,  three  real  saints  among 

the  women  to  one  among  the  men,  in  every  de- 
nomination. 

The  spiritual  standard  of  different  classes  I 

would  reckon  thus  :  — 

1.  The  comfortably  rich. 

2.  The  decently  comfortable 

3.  The  very  rich,  who  are  apt  to    be   irreligious. 

4.  The  very  poor,  who  are  apt  to  be  immoral. 
The   cut   nails    of  machine-divinity  may  be 

driven  in,  but  they  won't  clinch. 

The   arguments  which   the   greatest   of  our 

schoolmen  could  not  refute  were  two :  the  blood 
in  men's  veins,  and  the  milk  in  women's  breasts. 

Humility   is   the    first    of   the    virtues  —  for 

other  people. 

Faith    always    implies    the    disbelief    of    a 

lesser  fact  in  favor  of  a  greater.  A  little  mind 
often  sees  the  unbelief,  without  seeing  the  belief, 
of  a  large  one. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       153 

The  Poor  Relation  had  been  fidgeting  about 
and  working  her  mouth  while  all  this  was  going 
on.     She  broke  out  in  speech  at  this  point. 

I  hate  to  hear  folks  talk  so.  I  don't  see  that 
you  are  any  better  than  a  heathen. 

I  wish  I  were  half  as  good  as  many  heathens 
have  been,  —  I  said.  —  Dying  for  a  principle  seems 
to  me  a  higher  degree  of  virtue  than  scolding  for 
it;  and  the  history  of  heathen  races  is  full  of  in- 
stances where  men  have  laid  down  their  lives  for 
the  love  of  their  kind,  of  their  country,  of  truth, 
nay,  even  for  simple  manhood's  sake,  or  to  show 
their  obedience  or  fidelity.  What  would  not  such 
beings  have  done  for  the  souls  of  men,  for  the 
Christian  commonwealth,  for  the  King  of  Kings, 
if  they  had  lived  in  days  of  larger  light  ?  Which 
seems  to  you  nearest  heaven,  Socrates  drinking 
his  hemlock,  Regulus  going  back  to  the  enemy's 
camp,  or  that  old  New  England  divine  sitting 
comfortably  in  his  study  and  chuckling  over  his 
conceit  of  certain  poor  women,  who  had  been 
burned  to  death  in  his  own  town,  going  "roaring 
out  of  one  fire  into  another "  ? 

I  don't  believe  he  said  any  such  thing,  —  replied 
the  Poor  Relation. 

It  is  hard  to  believe,  —  said  I,  —  but  it  is  true 
for  all  that.  In  another  hundred  years  it  will  be 
as  incredible  that  men  talked  as  we  sometimes 
hear  them  now. 


154       THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Pectus  est  quod  facit  tlieologum.  The  heart 
makes  the  theologian.  Every  race,  every  civiliza- 
tion, either  has  a  new  revelation  of  its  own  or  a 
new  interpretation  of  an  old  one.  Democratic 
America  has  a  different  humanity  from  feudal 
Europe,  and  so  must  have  a  new  divinity.  See, 
for  one  moment,  how  intelligence  reacts  on  our 
faiths.  The  Bible  was  a  divining-book  to  our  an- 
cestors, and  is  so  still  in  the  hands  of  some  of 
the  vulgar.  The  Puritans  went  to  the  Old  Testa- 
ment for  their  laws;  the  Mormons  go  to  it  for 
their  patriarchal  institution.  Every  generation  dis- 
solves something  new  and  precipitates  something 
once  held  in  solution  from  that  great  storehouse 
of  temporary  and  permanent  truths. 

You  may  observe  this :  that  the  conversation  of 
intelligent  men  of  the  stricter  sects. is  strangely  in 
advance  of  the  formulae  that  belong  to  their  organ- 
izations. So  true  is  this,  that  I  have  doubts 
whether  a  large  proportion  of  them  would  not 
have  been  rather  pleased  than  offended,  if  they 
could  have  overheard  our  talk.  For,  look  you,  I 
think  there  is  hardly  a  professional  teacher  who 
will  not  in  private  conversation  allow  a  large  part 
of  what  we  have  said,  though  it  may  frighten  him 
in  print;  and  I  know  well  what  an  under-current 
of  secret  sympathy  gives  vitality  to  those  poor 
words  of  mine  which  sometimes  get  a  hearing. 

I  don't  mind  the  exclamation  of  any  old   stager 


THE   TROFESSOR  AT  THE    BBEAKF AST-TABLE.       155 

who  drinks  Madeira  worth  from  two  to  six  Bibles 
a  bottle,  and  burns,  according  to  his  own  prem- 
ie a,  a  dozen  souls  a  year  in  the  cigars  with  which 
he  muddles  his  brains.  But  as  for  the  good  and 
true  and  intelligent  men  whom  we  see  all  around 
us,  laborious,  self-denying,  hopeful,  helpful,  —  men 
who  know  that  the  active  mind  of  the  century  is 
Tending  more  and  more  to  the  two  poles,  Rome 
and  Reason,  the  sovereign  church  or  the  free  soul, 
authority  or  personality,  God  in  us  or  God  in  our 
masters,  and  that,  though  a  man  may  by  accident 
stand  half-way  between  these  two  points,  he  must 
look  one  way  or  the  other,  —  I  don't  believe  they 
would  take  offence  at  anything  I  have  reported  of 
our  late  conversation. 

But  supposing  any  one  do  take  offence  at  first 
sight,  let  him  look  over  these  notes  again,  and  see 
whether  he  is  quite  sure  he  does  not  agree  with 
most  of  these  things  that  were  said  amongst  us. 
If  he  agrees  with  most  of  them,  let  him  be  pa- 
tient with  an  opinion  he  does  not  accept,  or  an 
expression  or  illustration  a  little  too  vivacious.  I 
don't  know  that  I  shall  report  any  more  conver- 
sations on  these  topics ;  but  I  do  insist  on  the 
riirht  to  express  a  civil  opinion  on  this  class  of 
subjects  without  giving  offence,  just  when  and 
where  I  please,  —  unless,  as  in  the  lecture-room, 
these  is  an  implied  contract  to  keep  clear  of 
doubtful    matters.     You    didn't  think   a  man  could 


156       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

sit  at  a  breakfast-table  doing  nothing  but  making 
puns  every  morning  for  a  year  or  two,  and  never 
give  a  thought  to  the  two  thousand  of  his  fellow- 
creatures  who  are  passing  into  another  state  dur- 
ing every  hour  that  he  sits  talking  and  laughing! 
Of  course,  the  one  matter  that  a  real  human  being 
cares  for  is  what  is  going  to  become  of  them  and 
of  him.  And  the  plain  truth  is,  that  a  good  many 
people  are  saying  one  thing  about  it  and  believing 
another. 

How    do    I    know    that  ?      Why,    I    have 

known  and  loved  to  talk  with  good  people,  all  the 
way  from  Rome  to  Geneva  in  doctrine,  as  long 
as  I  can  remember.  Besides,  the  real  religion  of 
the  world  comes  from  women  much  more  than 
from  men, —  from  mothers  most  of  all,  who  carry 
the  key  of  our  souls  in  their  bosoms.  It  is  in 
their  hearts  that  the  "  sentimental "  religion  some 
people  are  so  fond  of  sneering  at  has  its  source. 
The  sentiment  of  love,  the  sentiment  of  maternity, 
the  sentiment  of  the  paramount  obligation  of  the 
parent  to  the  child  as  having  called  it  into  exist- 
ence, enhanced  just  in  proportion  to  the  power 
and  knowledge  of  the  one  and  the  weakness  and 
ignorance  of  the  other,  —  these  are  the  "senti- 
ments "  that  have  kept  our  soulless  systems  from 
driving  men  off  to  die  in  holes  like  those  that 
riddle  the  sides  of  the  hill  opposite  the  Monastery 
of    St.    Saba,    where    the   miserable  victims    of    a 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKE AST-TABLE.       1^7 

falsely-interpreted   religion   starved  and  withered  in 
their  delusion. 

I  have  looked  on  the  face  of  a  saintly  woman 
this  very  day,  whose  creed  many  dread  and  hate, 
but  whose  life  is  lovely  and  noble  beyond  all 
praise.  When  I  remember  the  bitter  words  I  have 
heard  spoken  against  her  faith,  by  men  who  have 
an  Inquisition  which  excommunicates  those  who 
ask  to  leave  their  communion  in  peace,  and  an 
Index  Expurgatorins  on  which  this  article  may 
possibly  have  the  honor  of  figuring,  —  and,  far 
worse  than  these,  the  reluctant,  pharisaical  con- 
fession, that  it  might  perhaps  be  possible  that 
one  who  so  believed  should  be  accepted  of  the 
Creator,  —  and  then  recall  the  sweet  peace  and 
love  that  show  through  all  her  looks,  the  price  of 
untold  sacrifices  and  labors,  —  and  again  recollect 
how  thousands  of  women,  filled  with  the  same 
spirit,  die,  without  a  murmur,  to  earthly  life,  die 
to  their  own  names  even,  that  they  may  know 
nothing  but  their  holy  duties,  —  while  men  are  tor- 
turing and  denouncing  their  fellows,  and  while  we 
can  hear  day  and  night  the  clinking  of  the  ham- 
mers that  are  trying,  like  the  brute  forces  in  the 
"  Prometheus,"  to  rivet  their  adamantine  wedges 
right  through  the  breast  of  human  nature,  —  I 
have  been  ready  to  believe  that  we  have  even 
now  a  new  revelation,  and  the  name  of  its  Mes- 
siah is  Woman  ! 


158       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


I   should   be   sorry,  —  I  remarked,  a  day  or 


two  afterwards,  to  the  divinity-student,  —  if  any- 
thing I  said  tended  in  any  way  to  foster  any 
jealousy  between  the  professions,  or  to  throw  dis- 
respect upon  that  one  on  whose  counsel  and  sym- 
pathies almost  all  of  us  lean  in  our  moments  of 
trial.  But  we  are  false  to  our  new  conditions  of 
life,  if  we  do  not  resolutely  maintain  our  religious 
as  well  as  our  political  freedom,  in  the  face  of 
any  and  all  supposed  monopolies.  Certain  men 
will,  of  course,  say  two  things,  if  we  do  not  take 
their  views :  first,  that  we  don't  know  anything 
about  these  matters;  and,  secondly,  that  we  are 
not  so  good  as  they  are.  They  have  a  polarized 
phraseology  for  saying  these  things,  but  it  comes 
to  precisely  that.  To  which  it  may  be  answered, 
in  the  first  place,  that  we  have  good  authority  for 
saying  that  even  babes  and  sucklings  know  some- 
thing' ;  and,  in  the  second,  that,  if  there  is  a  mote 
or  so  to  be  removed  from  our  premises,  the  courts 
and  councils  of  the  last  few  years  have  found 
beams  enough  in  some  other  quarters  to  build  a 
church  that  would  hold  all  the  good  people  in 
Boston  and  have  sticks  enough  left  to  make  a 
bonfire  for  all  the  heretics. 

As  to  that  terrible  depolarizing  process  of  mine, 
of  which  we  were  talking  the  other  day,  I  will 
give  you  a  specimen  of  one  way  of  managing  it, 
if  you   like.     I   don't   believe   it   will  hurt   you   or 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       159 

anybody.  Besides,  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  finish 
onr  talk  with  pleasant  images  and  gentle  words 
than  with  sharp  sayings,  which  will  only  afford  a 
text,  if  anybody  repeats  them,  for  endless  relays 
of  attacks  from  Messrs.  Ananias,  Shimei,  and 
Rab-shakeh. 

[I  must  leave  such  gentry,  if  any  of  them  show 
themselves,  in  the  hands  of  my  clerical  friends, 
many  of  whom  are  ready  to  stand  up  for  the 
rights  of  the  laity,  —  and  to  those  blessed  souls, 
the  good  women,  to  whom  this  version  of  the 
story  of  a  mother's  hidden  hopes  and  tender  anxi- 
eties is  dedicated  by  their  peaceful  and  loving  ser- 
vant.l 


A  MOTHER'S   SECRET. 

How  sweet  the  sacred  legend — if  unblamed 
In  my  slight  verse  such  holy  things  are  named  — 
Of  Mary's  secret  hours  of  hidden  joy, 
Silent,  but  pondering  on  her  wondrous  boy  ! 
Ave,  Maria  !     Pardon,  if  I  wrong 
Those  heavenly  words  that  shame  my  earthly  song  ! 

The  choral  host  had  closed  the  angel's  strain 
Sung  to  the  midnight  watch  on  Bethlehem's  plain ; 
And  now  the  shepherds,  hastening  on  their  way, 
Sought  the  still  hamlet  where  the  Infant  lay. 
They  passed  the  fields  that  gleaning  Ruth  toiled  o'er, 
They  saw  afar  the  ruined  threshing-floor 


160      THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Where  Moab's  daughter,  homeless  and  forlorn, 
Found  Boaz  slumbering  by  his  heaps  of  corn ; 
And  some  remembered  how  the  holy  scribe, 
Skilled  in  the  lore  of  every  jealous  tribe, 
Traced  the  warm  blood  of  Jesse's  royal  son 
To  that  fair  alien,  bravely  wooed  and  won. 
So  fared  they  on  to  seek  the  promised  sign 
That  marked  the  anointed  heir  of  David's  line. 

At  last,  by  forms  of  earthly  semblance  led, 
They  found  the  crowded  inn,  the  oxen's  shed. 
No  pomp  was  there,  no  glory  shone  around 
On  the  coarse  straw  that  strewed  the  reeking  ground; 
One  dim  retreat  a  flickering  torch  betrayed, — 
In  that  poor  cell  the  Lord  of  Life  was  laid ! 

The  wondering  shepherds  told  their  breathless  tale 
Of  the  bright  choir  that  woke  the  sleeping  vale  ; 
Told  how  the  skies  with  sudden  glory  flamed ; 
Told  how  the  shining  multitude  proclaimed 
"  Joy,  joy  to  earth !     Behold  the  hallowed  morn  ! 
In  David's  city  Christ  the  Lord  is  born ! 
'  Glory  to  God  ! '  let  angels  shout  on  high,  — 
'  Good- will  to  men  ! '  the  listening  Earth  reply  ! " 

They  spoke  with  hurried  words  and  accents  wild; 
Calm  in  his  cradle  slept  the  heavenly  child. 
No  trembling  word  the  mother's  joy  revealed, — 
One  sigh  of  rapture,  and  her  lips  were  sealed ; 
Unmoved  she  saw  the  rustic  train  depart, 
But  kept  their  words  to  ponder  in  her  heart. 

Twelve  years  had  passed;  the  boy  was  fair  and  tall, 
Growing  in  wisdom,  finding  grace  with  all. 
The  maids  of  Nazareth,  as  they  trooped  to  fill 
Their  balanced  urns  beside  the  mountain-rill,  — 
The  gathered  matrons,  as  they  sat  and  spun, 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE    l'.KKAKFAST-TABLK.       163 

Spoke  in  soft  words  of  Joseph's  quiet  son. 
No  voice  had  reached  the  Galilean  vale 
Of  star-led  kings  or  awe-struck  shepherds'  tale ; 
Iu  the  meek,  studious  child  they  only  saw 
The  future  Rabbi,  learned  in  Israel's  law. 

So  grew  the  boy ;  and  now  the  feast  was  near, 
When  at  the  holy  place  the  tribes  appear. 
Scarce  had  the  home-bred  child  of  Nazareth  seen 
Beyond  the  hills  that  girt  the  village-green, 
Save  when  at  midnight,  o'er  the  star-lit  sands, 
Snatched  from  the  steel  of  Herod's  murdering  bands, 
A  babe,  close-folded  to  his  mother's  breast, 
Through  Edom's  wilds  he  sought  the  sheltering  West. 

Then  Joseph  spake :  "  Thy  boy  hath  largely  grown ; 
"Weave  him  fine  raiment,  fitting  to  be  shown  ; 
Fair  robes  beseem  the  pilgrim,  as  the  priest : 
Goes  he  not  with  us  to  the  holy  feast  ?  " 

And  Mary  culled  the  flaxen  fibres  white; 
Till  eve  she  spun ;  she  spun  till  morning  light ; 
The  thread  was  twined;  its  parting  meshes  through 
From  hand  to  hand  her  restless  shuttle  flew, 
Till  the  full  web  was  wound  upon  the  beam,  — 
Love's  curious  toil,  —  a  vest  without  a  seam ! 

They  reach  the  holy  place,  fulfil  the  days 
To  solemn  feasting  given,  and  grateful  praise. 
At  last  they  turn,  and  far  Moriah's  height 
Melts  in  the  southern  sky  and  fades  from  sight. 
All  day  the  duiky  caravan  has  flowed 
In  devious  trails  along  the  winding  road,  — 
(For  many  a  step  their  homeward  path  attends, 
And  all  the  sons  of  Abraham  are  as  friends). 
Evening  has  come,  —  the  hour  of  rest  and  joy;  — 
Hash  I  hush!  —  that  whisper, — '-Where  is  Mary's  boy?" 

O  weary  hour!     O  aching  days  that  passed 


162      THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Filled  with  strange  fears,  each  wilder  than  the  last: 
The  soldier's  lance,  —  the  fierce  centurion's  sword,  — 
The  crushing  wheels  that  whirl  some  Roman  lord, — 
The  midnight  crypt  that  sucks  the  captive's  breath,  — 
The  blistering  sun  on  Hinnom's  vale  of  death ! 

Thrice  on  his  cheek  had  rained  the  morning  light, 
Thrice  on  his  lips  the  mildewed  kiss  of  night, 
Crouched  by  some  porphyry  column's  shining  plinth, 
Or  stretched  beneath  the  odorous  terebinth. 

At  last,  in  desperate  mood,  they  sought  once  more 
The  Temple's  porches,  searched  in  vain  before ; 
They  found  him  seated  with  the  ancient  men, — 
The  grim  old  rufflers  of  the  tongue  and  pen,  — 
Their  bald  heads  glistening  as  they  clustered  near, 
Their  gray  beards  slanting  as  they  turned  to  hear, 
Lost  in  half-envious  wonder  and  surprise 
That  lips  so  fresh  should  utter  words  so  wise. 

And  Mary  said,  —  as  one  who,  tried  too  long, 
Tells  all  her  grief  and  half  her  sense  of  wrong,  — 
"  What  is  this  thoughtless  thing  which  thou  hast  done  ? 
Lo,  we  have  sought  thee  sorrowing,  O  my  son ! " 
Few  words  he  spake,  and  scarce  of  filial  tone,  — 
Strange  words,  their  sense  a  mystery  yet  unknown ; 
Then  turned  with  them  and  left  the  holy  hill, 
To  all  their  mild  commands  obedient  still. 

The  tale  was  told  to  Nazareth's  sober  men, 
And  Nazareth's  matrons  told  it  oft  again ; 
The  maids  retold  it  at  the  fountain's  side ; 
The  youthful  shepherds  doubted  or  denied ; 
It  passed  around  among  the  listening  friends, 
With  all  that  fancy  adds  and  fiction  lends, 
Till  newer  marvels  dimmed  the  young  renown 
Of  Joseph's  son,  who  talked  the  Rabbis  down. 
But  Mary,  faithful  to  its  lightest  word, 


THK   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       1C3 

Kept  in  her  heart  the  sayings  she  had  heard. 
Till  the  dread  morning  rent  the  Temple's  veil, 
And  shuddering  Earth  confirmed  the  wondrous  tale. 

Youth  fades ;  love  droops ;  the  leaves  of  friendship  fall ; 
A  mother's  secret  hope  outlives  them  all. 


VI. 


You  don't  look  so  dreadful  poor  in  the  face  as 
you  did  a  while  back.     Bloated  some,  I  expect. 

This  was  the  cheerful  and  encouraging  and  ele- 
gant remark  with  which  the  Poor  Relation  greeted 
the  divinity-student  one  morning. 

Of  course  every  good  man  considers  it  a  great 
sacrifice  on  his  part  to  continue  living  in  this 
transitory,  unsatisfactory,  and  particularly  unpleas- 
ant world.  This  is  so  much  a  matter  of  course, 
that  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  divinity-student 
change  color.  He  took  a  look  at  a  small  and  un- 
certain-minded glass  which  hung  slanting  forward 
over  the  chapped  sideboard.  The  image  it  re- 
turned to  him  had  the  color  of  a  very  young  pea 
somewhat  over-boiled.  The  scenery  of  a  long 
tragic  drama  flashed  through  his  mind  as  the 
lightning-express-train  whishes  by  a  station :  the 
gradual  dismantling  process  of  disease  ;  friends 
looking    on,    sympathetic,    but     secretly    chuckling 


164      THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

over  their  own  stomachs  of  iron  and  lungs  of 
caoutchouc ;  nurses  attentive,  but  calculating  their 
crop,  and  thinking  how  soon  it  will  be  ripe,  so 
that  they  can  go  to  your  neighbor,  who  is  good 
for  a  year  or  so  longer ;  doctors  assiduous,  but 
giving  themselves  a  mental  shake,  as  they  go  out 
of  your  door,  which  throws  off'  your  particular 
grief  as  a  duck  sheds  a  raindrop  from  his  oily 
feathers  ;  undertakers  solemn,  but  happy  ;  then  the 
great  subsoil  cultivator,  who  plants,  but  never 
looks  for  fruit  in  his  garden ;  then  the  stone-cut- 
ter, who  finds  the  lie  that  has  been  waiting  for 
you  on  a  slab  ever  since  the  birds  or  beasts  made 
their  tracks  on  the  new  red  sandstone;  then  the 
grass  and  the  dandelions  and  the  buttercups, — 
Earth  saying  to  the  mortal  body,  with  her  sweet 
symbolism,  "  You  have  scarred  my  bosom,  but 
you  are  forgiven "  ;  then  a  glimpse  of  the  soul  as 
a  floating  consciousness  without  very  definite  form 
or  place,  but  dimly  conceived  of  as  an  upright 
column  of  vapor  or  mist  several  times  larger  than 
life-size,  so  far  as  it  could  be  said  to  have  any 
size  at  all,  wandering  about  and  living  a  thin  and 
half-awake  life  for  want  of  good  old-fashioned 
solid  matter  to  come  down  upon  with  foot  and 
fist,  —  in  fact,  having  neither  foot  nor  fist,  nor 
conveniences  for  taking  the  sitting  posture. 

And   yet  the  divinity-student  was  a  good  Chris-' 
tian,  and  those  heathen  images  which  remind   one 


i 


THE  TROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       165 

of  the  childlike  fancies  of  the  dying  Adrian  were 
only  the  efforts  of  his  imagination  to  give  shape  to 
the  formless  and  position  to  the  placeless.  Neither 
did  his  thoughts  spread  themselves  out  and  link 
Themselves  as  I  have  displayed  them.  They  came 
confusedly  into  his  mind  like  a  heap  of  broken 
mosaics,  —  sometimes  a  part  of  the  picture  com- 
plete in  itself,  sometimes  connected  fragments,  and 
sometimes  only  single  severed  stones. 

They  did  not  diffuse  a  light  of  celestial  joy 
over  his  countenance.  On  the  contrary,  the  Poor 
Relation's  remark  turned  him  pale,  as  I  have 
said ;  and  when  the  terrible  wrinkled  and  jaun- 
diced looking-glass  turned  him  green  in  addition, 
and  he  saw  himself  in  it,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
ir  were  all  settled,  and  his  book  of  life  were  to 
be  shut  not  yet  half-read,  and  go  back  to  the  dust 
of  the  under-ground  archives.  He  coughed  a  mild 
short  cough,  as  if  to  point  the  direction  in  which 
his  downward  path  was  tending.  It  was  an  hon- 
est little  cough  enough,  so  far  as  appearances  went. 
But  coughs  are  ungrateful  things.  You  find  one 
out  in  the  cold,  take  it  up  and  nurse  it  and  make 
everything  of  it,  dress  it  up  warm,  give  it  all  sorts 
of  balsams  and  other  food  it  likes,  and  carry  it 
round  in  your  bosom  as  if  it  were  a  miniature 
lapdog.  And  by-and-by  its  little  bark  grows  sharp 
and  savage,  and — confound  the  tiling!  —  you  find 
it  is   a  wolfs   whelp  that   you   have  got  there,  and 


166   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

he  is  gnawing  in  the  breast  where  he  has  been 
nestling  so  long.  —  The  Poor  Relation  said  that 
somebody's  surrup  was  good  for  folks  that  were 
gettin'  into  a  bad  way.  —  The  landlady  had  heard 
of  desperate  cases  cured  by  cherry-pictorial. 

"Whiskey's  the  fellah,  —  said  the  young  man 
John.  —  Make  it  into  punch,  cold  at  dinner-time 
'n'  hot  at  bed-time.  I'll  come  up  'n'  show  you 
how  to  mix  it.  Haven't  any  of  you  seen  the 
wonderful  fat  man  exhibitin'  down  in  Hanover 
Street  ? 

Master  Benjamin  Franklin  rushed  into  the  dia- 
logue with  a  breezy  exclamation,  that  he  had  seen 
a  great  picter  outside  of  the  place  where  the  fat 
man  was  exhibitin'.  Tried  to  get  in  at  half-price, 
but  the  man  at  the  door  looked  at  his  teeth  and 
said  he  was  more'n  ten  year  old, 

It  isn't  two  years,  —  said  the  young  man  John, 
—  since  that  fat  fellah  was  exhibitin'  here  as  the 
Livin'  Skeleton.  Whiskey  —  that's  what  did  it, — 
real  Burbon's  the  stuff.  Hot  water,  sugar,  'n'  jest 
a  little  shavin'  of  lemon-skin  in  it,  —  skin,  mind 
you,  none  o'  your  juice ;  take  it  off  thin,  —  shape 
of  one  of  them  flat  curls  the  factory-girls  wear  on 
the  sides  of  their  foreheads. 

But  I  am  a  teetotaller,  —  said  the  divinity-student, 
in  a  subdued  tone  ;  —  not  noticing  the  enormous 
length  of  the  bow-string  the  young  fellow  had  just 
drawn. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  B B K A K FAST-TABLE.   1G7 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

I  think  you  have  worried  that  young  man  more 
than  you  meant, —  I  said.  —  I  don't  believe  he 
will  jump  off  one  of  the  bridges,  for  he  has  too 
much  principle  ;  but  I  mean  to  follow  him  and 
where  he  goes,  for  he  looks  as  if  his  mind 
were  made  up  to  something. 

I  followed  him  at  a  reasonable  distance.  He 
walked  doggedly  along,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  the  left,  turned  into  State  Street,  and  made 
for  a  well-known  Life-insurance  Office.  Luckily, 
the  doctor  was  there  and  overhauled  him  on  the 
spot.  There  was  nothing  the  matter  with  him,  he 
said,  and  he  could  have  his  life  insured  as  a  sound 
one.  He  came  out  in  good  spirits,  and  told  me 
this  soon  after. 

This  led  me  to  make  some  remarks  the  next 
morning  on  the  manners  of  well-bred  and  ill-bred 
people. 

I  began,  —  The  whole  essence  of  true  gentle- 
breeding  (one  does  not  like  to  say  gentility)  lies 
in  the  wish  and  the  art  to  be  agreeable.  Good- 
breeding  is  surface-  Christianity.  Every  look,  move- 
ment, tone,  expression,  subject  of  discourse,  that 
may  give  pain  to  another  is  habitually  excluded 
from  conversational  intercourse.  This  is  the  reason 
why  rich  people  are  apt  to  be  so  much  more 
agreeable  than  others. 


168       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


I  thought   you  were    a   great   champion    of 


equality,  —  said  the  discreet  and  severe  lady  who 
had  accompanied  our  young  friend,  the  Latin  Tu- 
tor's daughter. 

I  go  politically  for  equality,  —  I  said,  —  and 
socially  for  the  quality. 

Who  are  the  "quality,"  —  said  the  Model,  etc., 
—  in  a  community  like  ours  ? 

I  confess  I  find  this  question  a  little  difficult  to 
answer,  —  I  said.  —  Nothing  is  better  known  than 
the  distinction  of  social  ranks  which  exists  in 
every  community,  and  nothing  is  harder  to  define. 
The  great  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  a  place  are  its 
real  lords  and  masters  and  mistresses ;  they  are 
the  quality,  whether  in  a  monarchy  or  a  republic ; 
mayors  and  governors  and  generals  and  senators 
and  ex-presidents  are  nothing  to  them.  How  well 
we  know  this,  and  how  seldom  it  finds  a  distinct 
expression !  Now  I  tell  you  truly,  1  believe  in 
man  as  man,  and  I  disbelieve  in  all  distinctions 
except  such  as  follow  the  natural  lines  of  cleavage 
in  a  society  which  has  crystallized  according  to  its 
own  true  laws.  But  the  essence  of  equality  is  to 
be  able  to  say  the  truth  ;  and  there  is  nothing 
more  carious  than  these  truths  relating  to  the 
stratification  of  society. 

Of  all  the  facts  in  this  world  that  do  not  take 
hold  of  immortality,  there  is  not  one  so  intensely 
rea],  permanent,    and    engrossing   as   this   of  social 


Till;  PBOFESSOB  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       L69 

position,  —  as  you  see  by  the  circumstance  that 
the  core  of  all  the  great  social  orders  the  world 
has  seen  has  been,  and  is  still,  for  the  most  part, 
a  privileged  class  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  arranged 
in  a  regular  scale  of  precedence  among  themselves, 
but  superior  as  a  body  to  all  else. 

Nothing  but  an  ideal  Christian  equality,  which 
we  have  been  getting  farther  away  from  since  the 
days  of  the  Primitive  Church,  can  prevent  this 
subdivision  of  society  into  classes  from  taking 
place  everywhere,  —  in  the  great  centres  of  our 
republic  as  much  as  in  old  European  monarchies. 
Only  there  position  is  more  absolutely  hereditary, 
—  here  it  is  more  completely  elective. 

Where  is  the  election  held  ?    and  what    are 

the  qualifications  ?  and  who  are  the  electors  ?  — 
said  the   Model. 

Nobody  ever  sees  when  the  vote  is  taken  ;  there 
never  is  a  formal  vote.  The  women  settle  it 
mostly ;  and  they  know  wonderfully  well  what  is 
presentable,,  and  what  can't  stand  the  blaze  of  the 
chandeliers  and  the  critical  eye  and  ear  of  people 
trained  to  know  a  staring  shade  in  a  ribbon,  a 
false  light  in  a  jewel,  an  ill-bred  tone,  an  angular 
movement,  everything  that  betrays  a  coarse  fibre 
and  cheap  training.  As  a  general  thing,  you  do 
not  get  elegance  short  of  two  or  three  removes 
from  the  soil,  out  of  which  our  best  blood  doubt- 
.  —  (mite   as    good,    no    doubt,    as    if    it 


170       THE   PROFESSOR    AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABL*:. 

time  from  those  old  prize-fighters  with  iron  pots 
011  their  heads,  to  whom  some  great  people  are  so 
fond  of  tracing  their  descent  through  a  line  of 
small  artisans  and  petty  shopkeepers  whose  veins 
have  held  "base"  fluid  enough  to  fill  the  Cloaca 
Maxima ! 

Does  not  money  go  everywhere  ?  —  said  the 
Model. 

Almost.  And  with  good  reason.  For  though 
there  are  numerous  exceptions,  rich  people  are,  as 
I  said,  commonly  altogether  the  most  agreeable 
companions.  The  influence  of  a  fine  house,  grace- 
ful furniture,  good  libraries,  well-ordered  tables, 
trim  servants,  and,  above  all,  a  position  so  secure 
that  one  becomes  unconscious  of  it,  gives  a  har- 
mony and  refinement  to  the  character  and  man- 
ners which  we  feel,  even  if  we  cannot  explain 
their  charm.  Yet  we  can  get  at  the  reason  of  it 
by  thinking  a  little. 

All  these  appliances  are  to  shield  the  sensibility 
from  disagreeable  contacts,  and  to  soothe  it  by 
varied  natural  and  artificial  influences.  In  this 
way  the  mind,  the  taste,  the  feelings,  grow  deli- 
cate, just  as  the  hands  grow  white  and  soft  when 
saved  from  toil  and  incased  in  soft  gloves.  The 
whole  nature  becomes  subdued  into  suavity.  I 
confess  I  like  the  quality-ladies  better  than  the 
common  kind  even  of  literary  ones.  They  haven't 
read  the  last  book,  perhaps,  but  they  attend  better 


Tin:   PROFESSOB   A  I"   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       171 

to  you  when  you  are  talking  to  them.  If  they 
are  never  learned,  they  make  up  for  it  in  tact  and 
elegance.  Besides,  I  think,  on  the  whole,  there  is 
less  self-assertion  in  diamonds  than  in  dogmas.  I 
don't  know  where  you  will  find  a  sweeter  portrait 
of  humility  than  in  Esther,  the  poor  play-girl  of 
King  Ahasuerus ;  yet  Esther  put  on  her  royal 
apparel  when  she  went  before  her  lord.  I  have 
no  doubt  she  was  a  more  gracious  and  agreeable 
person  than  Deborah,  who  judged  the  people  and 
wrote  the  story  of  Sisera.  The  wisest  woman  you 
talk  with  is  ignorant  of  something  that  you  know, 
but  an  elegant  woman  never  forgets  her  elegance. 
Dowdy  ism  is  clearly  an  expression  of  imperfect 
vitality.  The  highest  fashion  is  intensely  alive, — 
not  alive  necessarily  to  the  truest  and  best  things, 
but  with  its  blood  tingling,  as  it  were,  in  all  its 
extremities  and  to  the  farthest  point  of  its  surface, 
so  that  the  feather  in  its  bonnet  is  as  fresh  as  the 
crest  of  a  fighting-cock,  and  the  rosette  on  its 
slipper  as  clean-cut  and  pimpant  (pronounce  it 
English  fashion,  —  it  is  a  good  word)  as  a  dahlia. 
As  a  general  rule,  that  society  where  flattery  is 
acted  is  much  more  agreeable  than  that  where  it 
\a  spoken.  Don't  you  see  why?  Attention  and 
deference  don't  require  you  to  make  fine  speeches 
expressing  your  sense  of  unworthiness  (lies)  and 
returning  all  the  compliments  paid  you.  This  is 
one  reason. 


172      THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


A  woman  of  sense  ought  to  be  above  flat- 


tering any  man,  —  said  the  Model. 

[My  reflection.  Oh  !  oh !  no  wonder  you  didn't 
get  married.  Served  you  right.]  My  remark. 
Surely,  Madam,  —  if  you  mean  by  flattery  telling 
people  boldly  to  their  faces  that  they  are  this  or 
that,  which  they  are  not.  But  a  woman  who 
does  not  carry  a  halo  of  good  feeling  and  de- 
sire to  make  everybody  contented  about  with  her 
wherever  she  goes,  —  an  atmosphere  of  grace, 
mercy,  and  peace,  of  at  least  six  feet  radius, 
which  wraps  every  human  being  upon  whom  she 
voluntarily  bestows  her  presence,  and  so  flatters 
him  with  the  comfortable  thought  that  she  is 
rather  glad  he  is  alive  than  otherwise,  isn't  worth 
the  trouble  of  talking  to,  as  a  woman;  she  may  do 
well  enough  to  hold  discussions  with. 

1  don't  think  the  Model   exactly  liked  this. 

She  said,  —  a  little  spitefully,  I  thought, — that  a 
sensible  man  might  stand  a  little  praise,  but  would 
of  course  soon  get  sick  of  it,  if  he  were  in  the 
habit  of  getting  much. 

Oh,  yes,  —  I  replied,  — just  as  men  get  sick  of 
tobacco.  It  is  notorious  how  apt  they  are  to  get 
tired  of  that  vegetable. 

— —  That's  so  !  —  said  the  young  fellow  John. 
—  I've  got  tired  of  my  cigars  and  burnt  'em  all 
up. 

I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  it,  —  said  the  Model. 


THE  PROFESSOB   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       17-'] 

—  I  wi&h  they  were  all  disposed  of  in  the  same 
way. 

So  do  I,  —  said  the  young  fellow  John. 

Can't  you  get  your  friends  to  unite  with  you 
in  committing  those  odious  instruments  of  de- 
bauchery  to  the  flames  in  which  you  have  con- 
sumed your  own  ? 

I  wish  I  could,  —  said  the  young  fellow  John. 

It  would  be  a  noble  sacrifice,  —  said  the  Model, 

—  and  every  American  woman  would  be  grateful 
to  you.  Let  us  burn  them  all  in  a  heap  out  in 
the  yard. 

That  a'n't  my  way,  —  said  the  young  fellow 
John  ;  —  I  burn  'em  one  't'  time,  —  little  end  in 
my  mouth  and  big  end  outside. 

1    watched    for    the    effect    of    this    sudden 

change  of  programme,  when  it  should  reach  the 
calm  stillness  of  the  Model's  interior  apprehension, 
as  a  boy  watches  for  the  splash  of  a  stone  which 
he  has  dropped  into  a  well.  But  before  it  had 
fairly  reached  the  water,  poor  Iris,  who  had  fol- 
lowed the  conversation  with  a  certain  interest 
until  it  turned  this  sharp  corner,  (for  she  seems 
rather  to  fancy  the  young  fellow  John,)  laughed 
out  such  a  clear,  loud  laugh,  that  it  started  us  all 
off,  as  the  locust-cry  of  some  full-throated  soprano 
drags  a  multitudinous  chorus  after  it.  It  was 
plain  that  some  dam  or  other  had  broken  in  the 
soul  of  this    young    girl,  and  she  was  squaring  up 


174       THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

old  scores  of  laughter,  out  of  which  she  had  been 
cheated,  with  a  grand  flood  of  merriment  that 
swept  all  before  it.  So  we  had  a  great  laugh  all 
round,  in  which  the  Model  —  who,  if  she  had  as 
many  virtues  as  there  are  spokes  to  a  wheel,  all 
compacted  with  a  personality  as  round  and  com- 
plete as  its  tire,  yet  wanted  that  one  little  addi- 
tion of  grace,  which  seems  so  small,  and  is  as 
important  as  the  linch-pin  in  trundling  over  the 
rough  ways  of  life  —  had  not  the  tact  to  join. 
She  seemed  to  be  "  stuffy "  about  it,  as  the  young 
fellow  John  said.  In  fact,  I  was  afraid  the  joke 
would  have  cost  us  both  our  new  lady-boarders. 
It  had  no  effect,  however,  except,  perhaps,  to 
hasten  the  departure  of  the  elder  of  the  two,  who 
could,  on  the  whole,  be  spared. 

1  had  meant  to  make  this  note  of  our  con- 
versation a  text  for  a  few  axioms  on  the  matter 
of  breeding.  But  it  so  happened,  that,  exactly  at 
this  point  of  my  record,  a  very  distinguished 
philosopher,  whom  several  of  our  boarders  and 
myself  go  to  hear,  and  whom  no  doubt  many  of 
my  readers  follow  habitually,  treated  this  matter 
of  manners.  Up  to  this  point,  if  I  have  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  coincide  with  him  in  opinion,  and 
so  unfortunate  as  to  try  to  express  what  he  has 
more  felicitously  said,  nobody  is  to  blame;  for 
what  has  been  given  thus  far  was  all  written  be- 
fore the   lecture  was   delivered.     But  what   shall    I 


Till-    PROFESSOR   AT    nil-:   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       L75 

do  now?  He  told  us  it  was  childish  to  lay  down 
rules  for  deportment,  — but  he  could  not  help  lay- 
ing down  a  few. 

Thus,  —  Nothing  so  vulgar  as  to  be  in  a  hurry. 
—  True,  but  hard  of  application.  People  with 
short  legs  step  quickly,  because  legs  are  pendulums, 
and  swing  more  times  in  a  minute  the  shorter 
they  are.  Generally  a  natural  rhythm  runs  through 
the  whole  organization:  quick  pulse,  fast  breath- 
ing, hasty  speech,  rapid  trains  of  thought,  excit- 
able temper.  Stillness  of  person  and  steadiness  of 
features  are  signal  marks  of  good-breeding.  Vul- 
gar persons  can't  sit  still,  or,  at  least,  they  must 
work  their  limbs  or  features. 

Talking'  of  one's  own  ails  and  grievances.  —  Bad 
enough,  but  not  so  bad  as  insulting  the  person 
you  talk  with  by  remarking  on  his  ill-looks,  or  ap- 
pearing to  notice  any  of  his  personal  peculiarities. 

Apologizing.  —  A  very  desperate  habit,  —  one 
that  is  rarely  cured.  Apology  is  only  egotism 
wrong  side  out.  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  the  first 
thing  a  man's  companion  knows  of  his  shortcom- 
ing is  from  his  apology.  It  is  mighty  presumptu- 
ous on  your  part  to  suppose  your  small  failures 
of  so  much  consequence  that  you  must  make  a 
talk  about  them. 

Good   dressing,  quiet  ways,  low  tones   of  voice, 

lips  thai  can  wait,  and  eyes   that   do    not  wander, 

of   personalities,  except    in   en-Tain  inti- 


176   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

mate  communions,  —  to  be  light  in  hand  in  con- 
versation, to  have  ideas,  but  to  be  able  to  make 
talk,  if  necessary,  without  them,  —  to  belong  to 
the  company  you  are  in,  and  not  to  yourself,  —  to 
have  nothing  in  your  dress  or  furniture  so  fine 
that  you  cannot  afford  to  spoil  it  and  get  another 
like  it,  yet  to  preserve  the  harmonies  throughout 
your  person  and  dwelling:  I  should  say  that  this 
was  a  fair  capital  of  manners  to  begin  with. 

Under  bad  manners,  as  under  graver  faults,  lies 
very  commonly  an  overestimate  of  our  special  in- 
dividuality, as  distinguished  from  our  generic  hu- 
manity. It  is  just  here  that  the  very  highest 
society  asserts  its  superior  breeding.  Among  truly 
elegant  people  of  the  highest  ton,  you  will  find 
more  real  equality  in  social  intercourse  than  in  a 
country  village.  As  nuns  drop  their  birth -names 
and  become  Sister  Margaret  and  Sister  Mary,  so 
high-bred  people  drop  their  personal  distinctions 
and  become  brothers  and  sisters  of  conversational 
charity.  Nor  are  fashionable  people  without  their 
heroism.  I  believe  there  are  men  who  have  shown 
as  much  self-devotion  in  carrying  a  lone  wall- 
flower down  to  the  supper-table  as  ever  saint  or 
martyr  in  the  act  that  has  canonized  his  name. 
There  are  Florence  Nightingales  of  the  ballroom, 
whom  nothing  can  hold  back  from  their  errands 
of  mercy.  They  find  out  the  red-handed,  glove- 
less    undergraduate    of   bucolic   antecedents,    as    he 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       177 

squirms  in  his  corner,  and  distil  their  soft  words 
upon  him  like  dew  upon  the  green  herb.  They 
reach  even  the  poor  relation,  whose  dreary  appari- 
tion saddens  the  perfumed  atmosphere  of  the 
sumptuous  drawing-room.  I  have  known  one  of 
these  angels  ask,  of  her  own  accord,  that  a  deso- 
late middle-aged  man,  whom  nobody  seemed  to 
know,  should  be  presented  to  her  by  the  hostess. 
He  wore  no  shut-collar,  —  he  had  on  black  gloves, 
—  and  was  flourishing  a  red  bandanna  handker- 
chief! Match  me  this,  ye  proud  children  of  pov- 
erty, who  boast  of  your  paltry  sacrifices  for  each 
other!  Virtue  in  humble  life!  What  is  that  to 
the  glorious  self-renunciation  of  a  martyr  in  pearls 
and  diamonds?  As  I  saw  this  noble  woman 
bending  gracefully  before  the  social  mendicant, — 
the  white  billows  of  her  beauty  heaving  under  the 
foam  of  the  traitorous  laces  that  half  revealed 
them,  —  I  should  have  wept  with  sympathetic 
emotion,  but  that  tears,  except  as  a  private  dem- 
onstration, are  an  ill-disguised  expression  of  self- 
consciousness  and  vanity,  which  is  inadmissible  in 
good  society. 

I  have  sometimes  thought,  with  a  pang,  of  the 
position  in  which  political  chance  or  contrivance 
might  hereafter  place  some  one  of  our  fellow- 
citizens.  It  has  happened  hitherto,  so  far  as  my 
limited  knowledge  goes,  that  the  President  of  the 
United    States    has    always    been    what    might    be 

8* 


178       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

called  in  general  terms  a  gentleman.  But  what 
if  at  some  future  time  the  choice  of  the  people 
should  fall  upon  one  on  whom  that  lofty  title 
could  not,  by  any  stretch  of  charity,  be  bestowed? 
This  may  happen,  —  how  soon  the  future  only 
knows.  Think  of  this  miserable  man  of  com- 
ing political  possibilities,  —  an  unpresentable  boor, 
sucked  into  office  by  one  of  those  eddies  in  the 
flow  of  popular  sentiment  which  carry  straws  and 
chips  into  the  public  harbor,  while  the  prostrate 
trunks  of  the  monarchs  of  the  forest  hurry  down 
on  the  senseless  stream  to  the  gulf  of  political 
oblivion!  Think  of  him,  I  say,  and  of  the  con- 
centrated gaze  of  good  society  through  its  thou- 
sand eyes,  all  confluent,  as  it  were,  in  one  great 
burning-glass  of  ice  that  shrivels  its  wretched  ob- 
ject in  fiery  torture,  itself  cold  as  the  glacier  of 
an  unsunned  cavern!  No,  —  there  will  be  angels, 
of  good-breeding  then  as  now,  to  shield  the  vic- 
tim of  free  institutions  from  himself  and  from  his 
torturers.  I  can  fancy  a  lovely  woman  playfully 
withdrawing  the  knife  which  he  would  abuse  by 
making  it  an  instrument  for  the  conveyance  of 
food,  —  or,  failing  in  this  kind  artifice,  sacrificing 
herself  by  imitating  his  use  of  that  implement; 
how  much  harder  than  to  plunge  it  into  her 
bosom,  like  Lucretia!  I  can  see  her  studying  his 
provincial  dialect  until  she  becomes  the  Cham- 
pollion  of   New  England  or  Western   or    Southern 


. 


Tin:   PROFESSOR   AT    ill::   BREAKFAST-  I'Al'.l.K.      170 

barbarisms.  She  has  learned  that  h'dow  means 
what ;   that  thinkin*  is  the  same  -thing  as  thinking"; 

or  she  has  found  out  the  meaning  of  that  extraor- 
dinary monosyllable,  which  no  single-tongued  pho- 
nographer  can  make  legible,  prevailing  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson  and  at  its  embouchure,  and 
elsewhere,  —  what  they  say  when  they  think  they 
say  first,  (fe-eest, — fe  as  in  the  French  le), —  or 
that  cheer  means  chair,  —  or  that  urritatioti  means 
irritation,  —  and  so  of  other  enormities.  Nothing 
surprises  her.  The  highest  breeding,  you  know, 
comes  round  to  the  Indian  standard,  —  to  take 
everything  coolly,  —  nil  admirari,  —  if  you  happen 
to  be  learned  and  like  the  Roman  phrase  for  the 
same  thing. 

If  you  like  the  company  of  people  that  stare  at 
you  from  head  to  foot  to  see  if  there  is  a  hole  in 
your  coat,  or  if  you  have  not  grown  a  little  older, 
or  if  your  eyes  are  not  yellow  with  jaundice,  or 
if  your  complexion  is  not  a  little  faded,  and  so 
on,  and  then  convey  the  fact  to  you,  in  the  style 
in  which  the  Poor  Relation  addressed  the  divinity- 
student,  —  go  with  them  as  much  as  you  like.  I 
hate  the  sight  of  the  wretches.  Don't  for  mercy's 
sake  think  I  hate  them ;  the  distinction  is  one  my 
friend  or  I  drew  long  ago.  No  matter  where  you 
find  such  people;  they  are  clowns.  The  rich 
nan  who  looks  and  talks  in  this  way  ia  not 
half   .-<>    much   a    lady    as    her   Irish   servant,  whose 


180       THE   FROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

pretty  "  saving  your  presence,"  when  she  has  to 
say  something  which  offends  her  natural  sense  of 
good  manners,  has  a  hint  in  it  of  the  breeding  of 
courts,  and  the  blood  of  old  Milesian  kings,  which 
very  likely  runs  in  her  veins,  —  thinned  by  two 
hundred  years  of  potato,  which,  being  an  under- 
ground fruit,  tends  to  drag  down  the  generations 
that  are  made  of  it  to  the  earth  from  which  it 
came,  and,  filling  their  veins  with  starch,  turn 
them  into  a  kind  of  human  vegetable. 

I  say,  if  you  like  such  people,  go  with  them. 
But  I  am  going  to  make  a  practical  application 
of  the  example  at  the  beginning  of  this  particular 
record,  which  some  young  people  who  are  going 
to  choose  professional  advisers  by-and-by  may  re- 
member and  thank  me  for.  If  you  are  making 
choice  of  a  physician,  be  sure  you  get  one,  if  pos- 
sible, with  a  cheerful  and  serene  countenance.  A 
physician  is  not — at  least,  ought  not  to  be  —  an 
executioner;  and  a  sentence  of  death  on  his  face 
is  as  bad  as  a  warrant  for  execution  signed  by 
the  Governor.  As  a  general  rule,  no  man  has  a 
right  to  tell  another  by  word  or  look  that  he  is 
going  to  die.  It  may  be  necessary  in  some  ex- 
treme cases ;  but  as  a  rule,  it  is  the  last  extreme 
of  impertinence  which  one  human  being  can  offer 
to  another.  "  You  have  killed  me,"  said  a  patient 
once  to  a  physician  who  had  rashly  told  him  he 
was     incurable.       He     ought     to     have     lived     six 


THE    PROFESSOK    AT    NIK    BREAKFAST-TABLE.        181 

'months,   bur   he   was  dead   in   six  weeks.      If  we 

will  only  let  Nature  and  the  God  of  Nature 
•alone,  persons  will  commonly  learn  their  condition 
as  early  as  they  ought  to  know  it,  and  not  be 
cheated  out  of  their  natural  birthright  of  hope  of 
recovery,  which  is  intended  to  accompany  sick 
people  as  long  as  life  is  comfortable,  and  is  gra- 
ciously replaced  by  the  hope  of  heaven,  or  at 
least  of  rest,  when  life  has  become  a  burden 
which  the  bearer  is  ready  to  let  fall. 

Underbred  people  tease  their  sick  and  dying 
friends  to  death.  The  chance  of  a  gentleman  or 
lady  with  a  given  mortal  ailment  to  live  a  certain 
time  is  as  good  again  as  that  of  the  common  sort 
of  coarse  people.  As  you  go  down  the  social 
scale,  you  reach  a  point  at  length  where  the  com- 
mon talk  in  sick  rooms  is  of  churchyards  and 
sepulchres,  and  a  kind  of  perpetual  vivisection  is 
forever  carried  on,  upon  the  person  of  the  miser- 
able sufferer. 

And  so.  in  choosing  your  clergyman,  other 
things  being  equal,  prefer  the  one  of  a  wholesome 
and  cheerful  habit  of  mind  and  body.  If  you  can 
get  along  with  people  who  carry  a  certificate  in 
their  faces  that  their  goodness  is  so  great  as  to 
make  them  very  miserable,  your  children  cannot. 
And  whatever  offends  one  of  these  little  ones  can- 
not be  right  in  the  eyes  of  Him  who  loved  them 
so  well. 


182       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

After  all,  as  you  are  a  gentleman  or  a  lady, 
you  will  probably  select  gentlemen  for  your  bodily 
and  spiritual  advisers,  and  then  all  will  be  right. 

This  repetition  of  the  above  words, — gentle- 
man and  lady,  —  which  could  not  be  conveniently 
avoided,  reminds  me  what  strange  uses  are  made 
of  them  by  those  who  ought  to  know  what  they 
mean.  Thus,  at  a  marriage  ceremony,  once,  of 
two  very  excellent  persons  who  had  been  at  ser- 
vice, instead  of,  Do  you  take  this  man,  etc.  ?  and, 
Do  you  take  this  woman  ?  how  do  you  think  the 
officiating  clergyman  put  the  questions?  It  was, 
Do  you,  Miss  So  and  So,  take  this  Gentleman  ? 
and,  Do  you,  Mr.  This  or  That,  take  this  Lady  ? ! 
What  would  any  English  duchess,  ay,  or  the 
Queen  of  England  herself,  have  thought,  if  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  had  called  her  and  her 
bridegroom  anything  but  plain  woman  and  man 
at  such  a  time? 

I  don't  doubt  the  Poor  Relation  thought  it 
was  all  very  fine,  if  she  happened  to  be  in  the 
church ;  but  if  the  worthy  man  who  uttered  these 
monstrous  words  —  monstrous  in  such  a  connec- 
tion—  had  known  the  ludicrous  surprise,  the  con- 
vulsion of  inward  disgust  and  contempt,  that 
seized  upon  many  of  the  persons  who  were  pres- 
ent, —  had  guessed  what  a  sudden  flash  of  light 
it  threw  on  the  Dutch  gilding,  the  pinchbeck,  the 
shabby,    perking    pretension    belonging    to    certain 


TttE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.       183 

social  layers,  —  so  inherent  in  their  whole  mode  of 
being,  that  the  holiest  offices  of  religion  cannot 
exclude  its  impertinences,  —  the  good  man  would 
have  given  his  marriage-fee  twice  over  to  recall 
that  superb  and  full-blown  vulgarism.  Any  per- 
sons whom  it  could  please  could  have  no  better 
notion  of  what  the  words  referred  to  signify  than 
of  the  meaning  of  apsides    and  asymptotes. 

Man!  Sir!  Woman!  Sir!  Gentility  is  a  fine 
thing,  not  to  be  undervalued,  as  I  have  been  try- 
ing to  explain;   but  humanity  comes  before  that. 

"  When  Adam  delved  and  Eve  span, 
Who  was  then  the  gentleman  ?  " 

The  beauty  of  that  plainness  of  speech  and  man- 
ners which  comes  from  the  finest  training  is  not 
to  be  understood  by  those  whose  habitat  is  below 
a  certain  level.  Just  as  the  exquisite  sea-anemones 
and  all  the  graceful  ocean-flowers  die  out  at  some 
fathoms  below  the  surface,  the  elegances  and  suavi- 
ties of  life  die  out  one  by  one  as  we  sink  through 
the  social  scale.  Fortunately,  the  virtues  are  more 
tenacious  of  life,  and  last  pretty  well  until  we  get 
down  to  the  mud  of  absolute  pauperism,  where 
they  do   not  flourish  greatly. 

1   had   almost  forgotten  about  our  boarders. 

As  the  Model  of  all  the  Virtues  is  about  to  leave 
us,  I  find  myself  wondering  what  is  the  reason  we 
are    not    all  very   sorry.      Surely  we    all    like    good 


184   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

persons.  She  is  a  good  person.  Therefore  we 
like  her.  —  Only  we  don't. 

This  brief  syllogism,  and  its  briefer  negative,  in- 
volving the  principle  which  some  English  convey- 
ancer borrowed  from  a  French  wit  and  embodied 
in  the  lines  by  which  Dr.  Fell  is  made  unamiably 
immortal,  —  this  syllogism,  I  say,  is  one  that  most 
persons  have  had  occasion  to  construct  and  de- 
molish, respecting  somebody  or  other,  as  I  have 
done  for  the  Model.  "  Pious  and  painefull."  Why 
has  that  excellent  old  phrase  gone  out  of  use  ? 
Simply  because  these  good  painefull  or  painstak- 
ing persons  proved  to  be  such  nuisances  in  the 
long  run,  that  the  word  "painefull"  came,  before 
people  thought  of  it,  to  mean  paingiving  instead 
of  painstaking. 

So,    the    old    fellah's    off   to-morrah,  —  said 

the  young  man  John. 

Old  fellow  ?  —  said  I,  —  whom  do  you  mean  ? 

Why,  the  one  that  came  with  our  little  beauty, 
—  the  old  fellah  in  petticoats. 

Now    that    means    something,  —  said    I   to 

myself.  —  These  rough  young  rascals  very  often 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  if  they  do  strike  with 
their  eyes  shut.  A  real  woman  does  a  great  many 
things  without  knowing  why  she  does  them ;  but 
these  pattern  machines  mix  up  their  intellects  with 
everything  they  do,  just  like  men.  They  can't 
help  it,  no  doubt;   but  we  can't  help   getting   sick 


THE    PROFESSOR    AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       185 

of  them,  either.  Intellect  is  to  a  woman's  nature 
what    her   watch-spring    skirt    is   to    her    dress ;    it 

ought  to  underlie    her    silks    and    embroideries,  but 

not  To  show  itself  too  staringly  on  the  outside. — 
You  don't  know,  perhaps,  but  I  will  tell  you;  — 
the  brain  is  the  palest  of  all  the  internal  organs, 
and  the  heart  the  reddest.  Whatever  comes  from 
the  brain  carries  the  hue  of  the  place  it  came 
from,  and  whatever  comes  from  the  heart  carries 
the  heat  and  color  of  its  birthplace. 

The  young  man  John  did  not  hear  my  solihqve, 
of  course,  but  sent  up  one  more  bubble  from  our 
sinking  conversation,  in  the  form  of  a  statement, 
that  she  was  at  liberty  to  go  to  a  personage  who 
receives  no  visits,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  from 
virtuous  people. 

Why,  I  ask  again,  (of  my  reader,)  should  a 
person  who  never  did  anybody  any  wrong,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  is  an  estimable  and  intelligent, 
nay,  a  particularly  enlightened  and  exemplary 
member  of  society,  fail  to  inspire  interest,  love, 
and  devotion?  Because  of  the  reversed  current  in 
the  flow  of  thought  and  emotion.  The  red  heart 
sends  all  its  instincts  up  to  the  white  brain  to  be 
analyzed,  chilled,  blanched,  and  so  become  pure 
son,  which  is  just  exactly  what  we  do  not 
want  of  woman  as  woman.  The  current  should 
run  the  other  way.  The  nice,  calm,  cold  thoi 
which  in  women  shapes  itself  so  rapidly  that  they 


186   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

hardly  know  it  as  thought,  should  always  travel 
to  the  lips  via  the  heart.  It  does  so  in  those 
women  whom  all  love  and  admire.  It  travels  the 
wrong  way  in  the  Model.  That  is  the  reason 
why  the  Little  Gentleman  said,  "  I  hate  her,  I 
hate  her."  That  is  the  reason  why  the  young 
man  John  called  her  the  "old  fellah,"  and  banished 
her  to  the  company  of  the  great  Unpresentable. 
That  is  the  reason  why  I,  the  Professor,  am  pick- 
ing her  to  pieces  with  scalpel  and  forceps.  That 
is  the  reason  why  the  young  girl  whom  she  has 
befriended  repays  her  kindness  with  gratitude  and 
respect,  rather  than  with  the  devotion  and  pas- 
sionate fondness  which  lie  sleeping  beneath  the 
calmness  of  her  amber  eyes.  I  can  see  her,  as 
she  sits  between  this  estimable  and  most  correct 
of  personages  and  the  misshapen,  crotchety,  often 
violent  and  explosive  little  man  on  the  other  side 
of  her,  leaning  and  swaying  towards  him  as  she 
speaks,  and  looking  into  his  sad  eyes  as  if  she 
found  some  fountain  in  them  at  which  her  soul 
could  quiet  its  thirst. 

Women  like    the    Model   are    a    natural    product 
of  a  chilly  climate  and  high  culture.     It  is  not 

"  The  frolic  wind  that  breathes  the  spring, 
Zephyr  with  Aurora  playing," 

when  the  two  meet 

"  on  beds  of  violets  blue, 

And  fresh-blown  roses  washed  in  dew," 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       1«S7 

that  claim  such  women  as  their  offspring.  It  is 
rather  the  east  wind,  as  it  blows  out  of  the  fogs 
of  Newfoundland,  and  clasps  a  clear-eyed  wintry 
noon  on  the  chill  bridal  couch  of  a  New  England 
ice-quarry. —  Don't  throw  up  your  cap  now,  and 
hurrah  as  if  this  were  giving  up  everything,  and 
nulling  against  the  best  growth  of  our  latitudes, 
—  the  daughters  of  the  soil.  The  brain-women 
never  interest  us  like  the  heart- women  ;  white  roses 
please  less  than  red.  But  our  Northern  seasons 
have  a  narrow  green  streak  of  spring,  as  well 
as  a  broad  white  zone  of  winter,  —  they  have  a 
glowing  band  of  summer  and  a  golden  stripe 
of  autumn  in  their  many-colored  wardrobe ;  and 
women  are  born  to  us  that  wear  all  these  hues 
of  earth  and  heaven  in  their  souls.  Our  ice-eyed 
brain-women  are  really  admirable,  if  we  only  ask 
of  them  just  what  they  can  give,  and  no  more. 
Only  compare  them,  talking  or  writing,  with  one 
of  those  babbling,  chattering  dolls,  of  warmer  lati- 
tudes, who  do  not  know  enough  even  to  keep  out 
of  print,  and  who  are  interesting  to  us  only  as 
specimens  of  arrest  of  development  for  our  psycho- 
logical cabiii' 

Good-bye,  Model  of  all  the  Virtues!  We  can 
spare  you  now.  A  little  clear  perfection,  undiluted 
with  human  weakness,  goes  a  great  way.  Go ! 
be  useful,  be  honorable  and  honored,  be  just,  be 
charitable,  talk  pure  reason,  and  help  to  disenchant 


188       THE    PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

the  world  by  the  light  of  an  achromatic  under- 
standing. Good-bye !  Where  is  my  Beranger  ? 
I  must  read  a  verse  or  two  of  "  Fretillon." 

Fair  play  for  all.  But  don't  claim  incompatible 
qualities  for  anybody.  Justice  is  a  very  rare  virtue 
in  our  community.  Everything  that  public  senti- 
ment cares  about  is  put  into  a  Papin's  digester, 
and  boiled  under  high  pressure  till  all  is  turned 
into  one  homogeneous  pulp,  and  the  very  bones 
give  up  their  jelly.  What  are  all  the  strongest 
epithets  of  our  dictionary  to  us  now?  The  critics 
and  politicians,  and  especially  the  philanthropists, 
have  chewed  them,  till  they  are  mere  wads  of 
syllable-fibre,  without  a  suggestion  of  their  old 
pungency  and  power. 

Justice !  A  good  man  respects  the  rights  even 
of  brute  matter  and  arbitrary  symbols.  If  he 
writes  the  same  word  twice  in  succession,  by 
accident,  he  always  erases  the  one  that  stands 
second;  has  not  the  first-comer  the  prior  right? 
This  act  of  abstract  justice,  which  I  trust  many 
of  my  readers,  like  myself,  have  often  performed, 
is  a  curious  anti-illustration,  by  the  way,  of  the 
absolute  wickedness  of  human  dispositions.  Why 
doesn't  a  man  always  strike  out  the  first  of  the 
two  words,  to  gratify  his  diabolical  love  of  in- 
justice  ? 

So,  I  say,  we  owe  a  genuine,  substantial  tribute 
of   respect  to   these    filtered   intellects   which    have 


1 1  i  1 :    PROFESSOR    AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       189 

left  their  womanhood  on  the  strainer.  They  are 
So  clear  that  it  is  a  pleasure  at  times  to  look  at 
the  world  of  thought  through  them.  But  the  rose 
anil  purple  tints  of  richer  natures  they  cannot  give 
us.  and  it  is  not  just  to  them  to  ask  it. 

Fashionable  society  gets  at  these  rich  natures 
very  often  in  a  way  one  would  hardly  at  first 
think:  of.  It  loves  vitality  above  all  things,  some- 
times disguised  by  affected  languor,  always  well 
kept  under  by  the  laws  of  good-breeding,  —  but 
still  it  loves  abundant  life,  opulent  and  showy 
organizations,  —  the  spherical  rather  than  the  plane 
•nometry  of  female  architecture,  —  plenty  of  red 
blood,  flashing  eyes,  tropical  voices,  and  forms  that 
bear  the  splendors  of  dress  without  growing  pale 
beneath  their  lnstre.  Among  these  you  will  find 
the  most  delicious  women  you  will  ever  meet, — 
women  whom  dress  and  flattery  and  the  round  of 
city  gayeties  cannot  spoil,  —  talking  with  whom, 
you  forget  their  diamonds  and  laces, —  and  around 
whom  all  the  nice  details  of  elegance,  which  the 
cold-blooded  beauty  next  them  is  scanning  so  nice- 
ly, blend  in  one  harmonious  whole,  too  perfect  to  be 
disturbed  by  the  petulant  sparkle  of  a  jewel,  or  the 
yellow  glare  of  a  bangle,  or  the  gay  toss  of  a  feather. 

There  are  many  things  that  I,  personally,  love 
better  than  fashion  or  wealth.  Not  to  speak  of 
those  highest  objects  of  our  love  and  loyalty,  I 
think    I    love    ease    and    independence    better    than 


19 )       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

the  golden  slavery  of  perpetual  matinees  and  soi- 
rees, or  the  pleasures  of  accumulation. 

But  fashion  and  wealth  are  two  very  solemn 
realities,  which  the  frivolous  class  of  moralists  have 
talked  a  great  deal  of  silly  stuff  about.  Fashion 
is  only  the  attempt  to  realize  Art  in  living  forms 
and  social  intercourse.  What  business  has  a  man 
who  knows  nothing  about  the  beautiful,  and  can- 
not pronounce  the  word  view,  to  talk  about 
fashion  to  a  set  of  people  who,  if  one  of  the 
quality  left  a  card  at  their  doors,  would  contrive 
to  keep  it  on  the  very  top  of  their  heap  of  the 
names  of  their  two-story  acquaintances,  till  it  was 
as  yellow  as  the  Codex  Vaticanus  ? 

Wealth,  too,  —  what  an  endless  repetition  of 
the  same  foolish  trivialities  about  it !  Take  the 
single  fact  of  its  alleged  uncertain  tenure  and 
transitory  character.  In  old  times,  when  men  were 
all  the  time  fighting  and  robbing  each  other,  —  in 
those  tropical  countries  where  the  Sabeans  and 
the  Chaldeans  stole  all  a  man's  cattle  and  camels, 
and  there  were  frightful  tornadoes  and  .  rains  of 
fire  from  heaven,  it  was  true  enough  that  riches 
took  wings  to  themselves  not  unfrequently  in  a 
very  unexpected  way.  But,  with  common  pru- 
dence in  investments,  it  is  not  so  now.  In  fact, 
there  is  nothing  earthly  that  lasts  so  well,  on  the 
whole,  as  money.  A  man's  learning  dies  with 
him ;    even    his  virtues    fade    out   of  remembrance ; 


THE   PBOFESSOB    AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       191 

but  the  dividends  on  the  stocks  he  bequeathes  to 
his  children  live  and  keep  his  memory  green. 

I  do  not  think  there  is  much  courage  or  origi- 
nality in  giving  utterance  to  truths  that  everybody 
knows,  but  which  get  overlaid  by  conventional 
trumpery.  The  only  distinction  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  point  out  to  feeble-minded  folk  is  this : 
that,  in  averting  the  breadth  and  depth  of  that 
significance  which  gives  to  fashion  and  fortune 
their  tremendous  power,  we  do  not  indorse  the 
extravagances  which  often  disgrace  the  one,  nor 
the  meanness  which  often  degrades  the  other. 

A  remark  which  seems  to  contradict  a  univer- 
sally current  opinion  is  not  generally  to  be  taken 
"  neat,"  but  watered  with  the  ideas  of  common- 
sense  and  commonplace  people.  So,  if  any  of  my 
young  friends  should  be  tempted  to  waste  their 
substance  on  white  kids  and  "  all-rounds,"  or  to 
insist  on  becoming  millionnaires  at  once,  by  any- 
thing I  have  said,  I  will  give  them  references  to 
some  of  the  class  referred  to,  well  known  to  the 
public  as  providers  of  literary  diluents,  who  will 
ken  any  truth  so  that  there  is  not  an  old 
woman  in  the  land  who  cannot  take  it  with  per- 
fect impunity. 

I  am  afraid  some  of  the  blessed  saints  in  dia- 
monds will  think  I  mean  to  flatter  them.  I  hope 
not; — if  I  do,  set  it  down  as  a  weakness.  But 
there    is    so    much    foolish    talk    about    wealth    and 


192       THE   PROFESSOR  AT    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

fashion,  (which,  of  course,  draw  a  good  many 
heartless  and  essentially  vulgar  people  into  the 
glare  of  their  candelabra,  but  which  have  a  real 
respectability  and  meaning,  if  we  will  only  look 
at  them  stereoscopically,  with  both  eyes  instead 
of  one,)  that  I  thought  it  a  duty  to  speak  a 
few  words  for  them.  Why  can't  somebody  give 
us  a  list  of  things  that  everybody  thinks  and  no- 
body says,  and  another  list  of  things  that  every- 
body says  and  nobody  thinks  ? 

Lest  my  parish  should  suppose  we  have  for- 
gotten graver  matters  in  these  lesser  topics,  I  beg 
them  to  drop  these  trifles  and  read  the  following 
lesson  for  the  day. 


THE   TWO   STREAMS. 

Behold  the  rocky  wall 
That  down  its  sloping  sides 
Pours  the  swift  rain-drops,  blending,  as  they  fall, 
In  rushing  river-tides  ! 

Yon  stream,  whose  sources  run 
Turned  by  a  pebble's  edge, 
Is  Athabasca,  rolling  toward  the  sun 
Through  the  cleft  mountain-ledge. 

The  slender  rill  had  strayed, 
But  for  the  slanting  stone, 


THE  PBOFESSOB  AT  THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.       1(J3 

To  evening's  ocean,  with  the  tangled  braid 
Of  foam-flecked  Oregon. 

So  from  the  heights  of  Will 
Life's  parting  stream  descends, 
And,  as  a  moment  turns  its  slender  rill, 
Each  widening  torrent  bends, — 

From  the  same  cradle's  side, 
From  the  same  mother's  knee, — 
One  to  long  darkness  and  the  frozen  tide, 
One  to  the  Peaceful  Sea! 


VII. 


Our  landlady's  daughter  is  a  young  lady  of 
some  pretensions  to  gentility.  She  wears  her  bon- 
net well  back  on  her  head,  which  is  known  by  all 
to  be  a  mark  of  high  breeding.  She  wears  her 
trains  very  long,  as  the  great  ladies  do  in  Europe. 
To  De  sure,  their  dresses  are  so  made  only  to 
sweep  the  tapestried  floors  of  chateaux  and  pal- 
aces ;  as  those  odious  aristocrats  of  the  other  side 
do  not  go  draggling  through  the  mud  in  silks  and 
satins,  but,  forsooth,  must  ride  in  coaches  when 
they  are  in  full  dress.  It  is  true,  that,  considering 
various  habits  of  the  American  people,  also  the 
little  accidents  which  the  best-kept  sidewalks  are 
liable  to,  a   lady  who    has    swept   a   mile    of  them 


194      THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

is  not  exactly  in  such  a  condition  that  one  would 
care  to  be  her  neighbor.  But  then  there  is  no 
need  of  being  so  hard  on  these  slight  weaknesses 
of  the  poor,  dear  women  as  our  little  deformed 
gentleman  was  the  other  day. 

There    are   no    such  women    as   the  Boston 

women,  Sir,  —  he  said.  Forty-two  degrees,  north 
latitude,  Home,  Sir,  Boston,  Sir !  They  had  grand 
women  in  old  Rome,  Sir,  —  and  the  women  bore 
such  men-children  as  never  the  world  saw  before. 
And  so  it  was  here,  Sir.  I  tell  you,  the  revolu- 
tion the  Boston  boys  started  had  to  run  in  wom- 
an's milk  before  it  ran  in  man's  blood,  Sir! 

But  confound  the  make-believe  women  we  have 
turned  loose  in  our  streets!  —  where  do  they  come 
from  ?  Not  out  of  Boston  parlors,  I  trust.  Why, 
there  isn't  a  beast  or  a  bird  that  would  drag  its 
tail  through  the  dirt  in  the  way  these  creatures 
do  their  dresses.  Because  a  queen  or  a  duchess 
wears  long  robes  on  great  occasions,  a  maid-of-all- 
work  or  a  factory-girl  thinks  she  must  make  her- 
self a  nuisance  by  trailing  through  the  street,  pick- 
ing   up    and    carrying    about    with     her pah! 

that's  what  I  call  getting  vulgarity  into  your 
bones  and  marrow.  Making  believe  be  what  you 
are  not  is  the  essence  of  vulgarity.  Show  over 
dirt  is  the  one  attribute  of  vulgar  people.  If  any 
man  can  walk  behind  one  of  these  women  and 
see    what    she    rakes     up     as    she    goes,    and    not 


THE   PBOFESSOB   AT   THE    BBEAKFAST-TABLJE.       1 '•'•"> 

fed  squeamish,  lie  has  got  a  tough  stomach.  I 
wouldn't  let  one  of  'em  into  my  room  without 
serving  'em  as  David  served  Saul  at  the  cave  in 
the  wilderness,  —  cut  off  his  skirts,  Sir!  cut  off  his 


I  suggested,  that  I  had  seen  some  pretty  stylish 
ladies  who  offended  in  the  way  he  condemned. 

Stylish  icomen,  I  don't  doubt,  —  said  the  Little 
Gentleman.  —  Don't  tell  me  that  a  true  lady  ever 
sacrifices  the  duty  of  keeping  all  about  her  sweet 
and  clean  to  the  wish  of  making  a  vulgar  show. 
I  won't  believe  it  of  a  lady.  There  are  some 
things  that  no  fashion  has  any  right  to  touch,  and 
cleanliness  is  one  of  those  things.  If  a  woman 
wishes  to  show  that  her  husband  or  her  father  has 
got  money,  which  she  wants  and  means  to  spend, 
but  doesn't  know  how,  let  her  buy  a  yard  or  two 
of  silk  and  pin  it  to  her  dress  when  she  goes  out 
to  walk,  but  let  her  unpin  it  before  she  goes  into 
the  house ;  —  there  may  be  poor  women  that  will 
think  it  worth  disinfecting.  It  is  an  insult  to  a 
respectable  laundress  to  carry  such  things  into 
a  house  for  her  to  deal  with.  I  don't  like  the 
Bloomers  any  too  well,  —  in  fact,  I  never  saw  but 
one,  and  she  —  or  he,  or  it  —  had  a  mob  of  boys 
r  her,  or  whatever  you  call  the  creature,  as  if 
she   had  been  a 

The  Little  Gentleman  stopped  short,  —  flashed 
somewhat,    and    looked    round    with    that   involun- 


196   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

tary,  suspicious  glance  which  the  subjects  of  any 
bodily  misfortune  are  very  apt  to  cast  round  them. 
His  eye  wandered  over  the  company,  none  of 
whom,  excepting  myself  and  one  other,  had,  prob- 
ably, noticed  the  movement.  They  fell  at  last  on 
Iris,  —  his  next  neighbor,  you  remember. 

We  know  in  a  moment,  on  looking  sud- 
denly at  a  person,  if  that  person's  eyes  have  been 
fixed  on  us.  Sometimes  we  are  conscious  of  it 
before  we  turn  so  as  to  see  the  person.  Strange 
secrets  of  curiosity,  of  impertinence,  of  malice,  of 
love,  leak  out  in  this  way.  There  is  no  need  of 
Mrs.  Felix  Lorraine's  reflection  in  the  mirror,  to 
tell  us  that  she  is  plotting  evil  for  us  behind  our 
backs.  We  know  it,  as  we  know  by  the  ominous 
stillness  of  a  child  that  some  mischief  or  other  is 
going  on.  A  young  girl  betrays,  in  a  moment, 
that  her  eyes  have  been  feeding  on  the  face  where 
you  find  them  fixed,  and  not  merely  brushing  over 
it  with  their  pencils  of  blue  or  brown  light. 

A  certain  involuntary  adjustment  assimilates  us, 
you  may  also  observe,  to  that  upon  which  we 
look.  Roses  redden  the  cheeks  of  her  who  stoops 
to  gather  them,  and  buttercups  turn  little  people's 
chins  yellow.  When  we  look  at  a  vast  land- 
scape, our  chests  expand  as  if  we  would  enlarge 
to  fill  it.  When  we  examine  a  minute  object,  we 
naturally  contract,  nor  only  our  foreheads,  but  all 
our   dimensions.      If    I   see   two    men    wrestling,    I 


THE  PROFESSOR    AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       197 

Wrestle  too,  with  my  limbs  and  features.  When 
a  country-fellow  comes  upon  the  stage,  you  will 
see  twenty  faces  in  the  boxes  putting  on  the 
bumpkin  expression.  There  is  no  need  of  multi- 
plying instances  to  reach  this  generalization;  every 
person  and  thing  we  look  upon  puts  its  special 
mark  upon  us.  If  this  is  repeated  often  enough, 
we  get  a  permanent  resemblance  to  it,  or,  at  least, 
a  fixed  aspect  which  we  took  from  it.  Husband 
and  wife  come  to  look  alike  at  last,  as  has  often 
been  noticed.  It  is  a  common  saying  of  a  jockey, 
that  he  is  "  all  horse  "  ;  and  I  have  often  fancied 
that  milkmen  get  a  stiff',  upright  carriage,  and  an 
angular  movement  of  the  arm,  that  remind  one 
of  a  pump  and  the  working  of  its  handle. 

All  this  came  in  by  accident,  just  because  I 
happened  to  mention  that  the  Little  Gentleman 
found  that  Iris  had  been  looking  at  him  with  her 
soul  in  her  eyes,  when  his  glance  rested  on  her 
after  wandering  round  the  company.  What  he 
thought,  it  is  hard  to  say ;  but  the  shadow  of 
suspicion  faded  off  from  his  face,  and  he  looked 
calmly  into  the  amber  eyes,  resting  his  cheek 
upon  the  hand  that  wore  the  red  jewel. 

If  it   were    a   possible   thing,  —  women    are 

Mich  strange  creatures!  Is  there  any  trick  that 
love  and  their  own  fancies  do  not  play  them  ? 
Just  see  how  they  marry !  A  woman  that  gets 
hold    of   a   bit    of    manhood    is    like    one    of   those 


198   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Chinese  wood-carvers  who  work  on  any  odd,  fan- 
tastic root  that  comes  to  hand,  and,  if  it  is  only 
bulbous  above  and  bifurcated  below,  will  always 
contrive  to  make  a  man — -such  as  he  is  —  out  of 
it.  I  should  like  to  see  any  kind  of  a  man,  dis- 
tinguishable from  a  Gorilla,  that  some  good  and 
even  pretty  woman  could  not  shape  a  husband 
out  of. 

A   child,  —  yes,   if  you   choose   to    call   her 

so,  —  but  such  a  child !  Do  you  know  how  Art 
brings  all  ages  together  ?  There  is  no  age  to  the 
angels  and  ideal  human  forms  among  which  the 
artist  lives,  and  he  shares  their  youth  until  his 
hand  trembles  and  his  eye  grows  dim.  The  youth- 
ful painter  talks  of  white-bearded  Leonardo  as  if 
he  were  a  brother,  and  the  veteran  forgets  that 
Raphael  died  at  an  age  to  which  his  own  is  of 
patriarchal  antiquity. 

But  why  this  lover  of  the  beautiful  should  be 
so  drawn  to  one  whom  Nature  has  wronged  so 
deeply  seems  hard  to  explain.  Pity,  I  suppose. 
They  say  that  leads  to  love. 

1   thought   this    matter  over  until  I  became 

excited  and  curious,  and  determined  to  set  myself 
more  seriously  at  work  to  find  out  what  was 
going  on  in  these  wild  hearts  and  where  their 
passionate  lives  were  drifting.  I  say  wild  hearts 
and  passionate  lives,  because  I  think  I  can  look 
through  this  seeming   calmness   of  youth    and   this 


THE   PROFESSOR    A T    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       199 

I 

apparent  feebleness  of  organization,  and  see  that 
Nature,  whom  it  is  very  hard  to  cheat,  is  only 
waiting  as  the  sapper  waits  in  his  mine,  know- 
ins   that    all    is    in    readiness    and    the    slow-match 

o 

burning  quietly  down  to  the  powder.  He  will 
leave  it  by-and-by,  and  then  it  will  take  care  of 
itsel£ 

One  need  not  wait  to  see  the  smoke  coming 
through  the  roof  of  a  house  and  the  flames  break- 
ing our  of  the  windows  to  know  that  the  build- 
ing is  on  tire.  Hark!  There  is  a  quiet,  steady, 
unobtrusive,  crisp,  not  loud,  but  very  knowing 
little  creeping  crackle  that  is  tolerably  intelligible. 
There  is  a  whiff  of  something  floating  about,  sug- 
ive  of  toasting  shingles.  Also  a  sharp  pyrol  ig- 
neous-acid pungency  in  the  air  that  stings  one's 
Let  us  get  up  and  see  what  is  going  on. 
—  Oh,  —  oh,  —  oh!  do  you  know  what  has  got 
hold  of  you  ?  It  is  the  great  red  dragon  that  is 
born  of  the  little  red  eggs  we  call  sparks,  with  his 
hundred  blowing  red  manes,  and  his  thousand 
lashing  red  tails,  and  his  multitudinous  red  eyes 
glaring  at  every  crack  and  key-hole,  and  his  count- 
red  tongues  lapping  the  beams  he  is  going  to 
crunch  presently,  and  his  hot  breath  warping  the 
panels  and  cracking  the  glass  and  making  old 
timber  sweat  that  had  forgotten    it  ver    alive 

with  sap.  Run  for  your  life!  leap!  or  you  will 
be    :t   cinder   in    live    minutes,  that   nothing   but  a 


200       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

coroner  would  take  for  the  wreck  of  a  human 
being ! 

If  any  gentleman  will  have  the  kindness  to  stop 
this  run-away  comparison,  I  shall  be  much  obliged 
to  him.  All  I  intended  to  say  was,  that  we  need 
not  wait  for  hearts  to  break  out  in  flames  to 
know  that  they  are  full  of  combustibles  and  that 
a  spark  has  got  among  them.  I  don't  pretend  to 
say  or  know  what  it  is  that  brings  these  two  per- 
sons together ;  —  and  when  I  say  together,  I  only 
mean  that  there  is  an  evident  affinity  of  some 
kind  or  other  which  makes  their  commonest  inter- 
course strangely  significant,  as  that  each  seems  to 
understand  a  look  or  a  word  of  the  other.  When 
the  young  girl  laid  her  hand  on  the  Little  Gentle- 
man's arm, —  which  so  greatly  shocked  the  Model, 
you  may  remember,  —  I  saw  that  she  had  learned 
the  lion-tamer's  secret.  She  masters  him,  and  yet 
I  can  see  she  has  a  kind  of  awe  of  him,  as  the 
man  who  goes  into  the  cage  has  of  the  monster 
that  he  makes  a  baby  of. 

One  of  two  things  must  happen.  The  first  is 
love,  downright  love,  on  the  part  of  this  young 
girl,  for  the  poor  little  misshapen  man.  You  may 
laugh,  if  you  like.  But  women  are  apt  to  love 
the  men  who  they  think  have  the  largest  capacity 
of  loving ;  —  and  who  can  love  like  one  that  has 
thirsted  all  his  life  long  for  the  smile  of  youth 
and   beauty,    and   seen   it   fly   his   presence    as   the 


IIIi:  PBOFESSOR   AT  THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.      2(>l 

wave  ebbed  from  the  parched  lips  of  him  whose 
fabled  punishment  is  the  perpetual  type  of  human 
longing  and  disappointment  ?  What  would  be- 
come of  him,  if  this  fresh  soul  should  stoop  upon 
him  in  her  first  young  passion,  as  the  flamingo 
drops  out  of  the  sky  upon  some  lonely  and  dark 
lagoon  in  the  marshes  of  Cagliari,  with  a  flutter 
of  scarlet  feathers  and  a  kindling  of  strange  fires 
in    the    shadowy    waters    that    hold     her    burning 


image  ? 


Marry  her,  of   course  ?  —  Why,    no,  not   of 

course.  I  should  think  the  chance  less,  on  the 
whole,  that  he  would  be  willing  to  marry  her  than 
she  to  marry  him. 

There  is  one  other  thing  that  might  happen.  If 
the  interest  he  awakes  in  her  gets  to  be  a  deep 
one,  and  yet  has  nothing  of  love  in  it,  she  will 
glance  off  from  him  into  some  great  passion  or 
other.  All  excitements  run  to  love  in  women  of 
a  certain  —  let  us  not  say  age,  but  youth.  An 
electrical  current  passing  through  a  coil  of  wire 
makes  a  magnet  of  a  bar  of  iron  lying  within  it, 
but  not  touching  it.  So  a  woman  is  turned  into 
a  love-magnet  by  a  tingling  current  of  life;  running 
round  her.  I  should  like  to  see  one  of  them  bal- 
anced on  a  pivot  properly  adjusted,  and  watch  if 
she  did  not  turn  so  as  to  point  north  and  south, 
—  as  Bhe  would,  if  the  love-currents  are  like  those 
of  the  earth   our  mother. 


202       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Pray,  do  you  happen  to  remember  Words- 
worth's "  Boy  of  Windermere "  ?  This  boy  used 
to  put  his  hands  to  his  mouth,  and  shout  aloud, 
mimicking  the  hooting  of  the  owls,  who  would 
answer  him 

"  with  quivering  peals, 
And  long  halloos  and  screams,  and  echoes  loud 
Redoubled  and  redoubled." 

When  they  failed  to  answer  him,  and  he  hung 
listening  intently  for  their  voices,  he  would  some- 
times catch  the  faint  sound  of  far  distant  water- 
falls, or  the  whole  scene  around  him  would  im- 
print itself  with  new  force  upon  his  perceptions. — 
Read  the  sonnet,  if  you  please; — it  is  Words- 
worth all  over,  —  trivial  in  subject,  solemn  in  style, 
vivid  in  description,  prolix  in  detail,  true  metaphys- 
ically, but  immensely  suggestive  of  "  imagination," 
to  use  a  mild  term,  when  related  as  an  actual  fact 
of  a  sprightly  youngster. 

All  I  want  of  it  is  to  enforce  the  principle,  that, 
when  the  door  of  the  soul  is  once  opened  to  a 
guest,  there  is  no  knowing  who  will  come  in 
next. 

Our   young   girl   keeps   up    her   early   habit 

of  sketching  heads  and  characters.  Nobody  is,  I 
should  think,  more  faithful  and  exact  in  the  draw- 
ing of  the  academical  figures  given  her  as  lessons; 
but  there  is  a  perpetual    arabesque  of  fancies  that 


T1IK   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.      20.", 

runs  round  the  margin  of  her  drawings,  and  there 
is  one  book  which  I  know  she  keeps  to  run  riot 
in,  where,  if  anywhere,  a  shrewd  eye  would  be 
most  likely  to  read  her  thoughts.  This  book  of 
hers  I  mean  to  see,  if  I  can  get  at  it  honorably. 

I  have  never  yet  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
Little  Gentleman's  chamber.  How  he  lives,  when 
he  once  gets  within  it,  I  can  only  guess.  His 
hours  are  late,  as  I  have  said ;  often,  on  waking 
late  in  the  night,  I  see  the  light  through  cracks  in 
his  window-shutters  on  the  wall  of  the  house  op- 
posite. If  the  times  of  witchcraft  were  not  over, 
I  should  be  afraid  to  be  so  close  a  neighbor  to  a 
place  from  which  there  come  such  strange  noises. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  dragging  of  something  heavy 
over  the  floor,  that  makes  me  shiver  to  hear  it,  — 
it  sounds  so  like  what  people  that  kill  other  people 
have  to  do  now  and  then.  Occasionally  I  hear 
very  sweet  strains  of  music,  —  whether  of  a  wind 
or  stringed  instrument,  or  a  human  voice,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  I  have  often  tried  to  find  out, 
but  through  the  partition  I  could  not  be  quite 
sure.  If  I  have  not  heard  a  woman  cry  and 
moan,  and  then  again  laugh  as  though  she  would 
die  laughing,  I  have  heard  sounds  so  like  them 
that  —  I  am  a  fool  to  confess  it  —  I  have  covered 
my  head  with  the  bedclothes ;  for  I  have  had  a 
fancy  in  my  dreams,  that  I  could  hardly  shake 
off   when    I    woke    up,    about   that    so-called    witch 


204       THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

that  was  his  great-grandmother,  or  whatever  it 
was,  —  a  sort  of  fancy  that  she  visited  the  Little 
Gentleman,  —  a  young  woman  in  old-fashioned 
dress,  with  a  red  ring  round  her  white  neck,  — 
not  a  necklace,  but  a  dull  stain. 

Of  course  you  don't  suppose  that  I  have  any 
foolish  superstitions  about  the  matter,  —  I,  the 
Professor,  who  have  seen  enough  to  take  all  that 
nonsense  out  of  any  man's  head !  It  is  not  our  be- 
liefs that  frighten  us  half  so  much  as  our  fancies. 
A  man  not  only  believes,  but  knows  he  runs  a 
risk,  whenever  he  steps  into  a  railroad  car;  but  it 
doesn't  worry  him  much.  On  the  other  hand,  carry 
that  man  across  a  pasture  a  little  way  from  some 
dreary  country-village,  and  show  him  an  old  house 
where  there  were  strange  deaths  a  good  many 
years   ago,  and  there  are  rumors    of   ugly  spots  on 

the  walls, the    old    man    hung    himself  in    the 

garret,  that  is  certain,  and  ever  since  the  country- 
people  have  called  it  "the  haunted  house,"  —  the 
owners  haven't  been  able  to  let  it  since  the  last 
tenants  left  on  account  of  the  noises,  —  so  it  has 
fallen  into  sad  decay,  and  the  moss  grows  on  the 
rotten  shingles  of  the  roof,  and  the  clapboards 
have  turned  black,  and  the  windows  rattle  like 
teeth  that  chatter  with  fear,  and  the  walls  of  the 
house  begin  to  lean  as  if  its  knees  were  shak- 
ing,   take  the    man  who    didn't   mind   the   real 

risk  of  the  oars  to  that  old  house,  on  some  dreary 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       205 

November  evening,  and  ask  him  to  sleep  there 
alone, —  how  do  you  think  he  will  like  it?  He 
doesn't  believe  one  word  of  ghosts,  —  but  then  he 
knows,  that,  whether  waking  or  sleeping,  his  im- 
agination will  people  the  haunted  chambers  with 
ghostly  images.  It  is  not  what  we  believe,  as  I 
said  before,  that  frightens  us  commonly,  but  what 
we  conceive.  A  principle  that  reaches  a  good 
way,  if  I  am  not  mistaken.  I  say,  then,  that,  if 
these  odd  sounds  coming  from  the  Little  Gentle- 
man's chamber  sometimes  make  me  nervous,  so 
that  I  cannot  get  to  sleep,  it  is  not  because  I 
suppose  he  is  engaged  in  any  unlawful  or  myste- 
rious way.  The  only  wicked  suggestion  that  ever 
came  into  my  head  was  one  that  was  founded  on 
the  landlady's  story  of  his  having  a  pile  of  gold ; 
it  was  a  ridiculous  fancy ;  besides,  I  suspect  the 
story  of  sweating  gold  wTas  only  one  of  the  many 
fables  got  up  to  make  the  Jews  odious  and  afford 
a  pretext  for  plundering  them.  As  for  the  sound 
like  a  woman  laughing  and  crying,  I  never  said 
it  was  a  woman's  voice  ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  I 
could  only  hear  indistinctly ;  and,  secondly,  he 
may  have  an  organ,  or  some  queer  instrument  or 
other,  with  what  they  call  the  vox  humana  stop. 
If  he  move-  his  bed  round  to  get  away  from  the 
window,  or  for  any  such  reason,  there  is  nothing 
very  frightful  in  that  simple  operation.  Most  of 
our   foolish    conceits    explain    themselves     In    some 


206       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

such  simple  way.  And  yet,  for  all  that,  I  confess, 
that,  when  I  woke  up  the  other  evening,  and 
heard,  first  a  sweet  complaining  cry,  and  then 
footsteps,  and  then  the  dragging  sound,  —  nothing 
but  his  bed,  I  am  quite  sore,  —  I  felt  a  stirring 
in  the  roots  of  my  hair  as  the  feasters  did  in 
Keats's    terrible  poem  of  "  Lamia." 

There  is  nothing  very  odd  in  my  feeling  nervous 
when  I  happen  to  lie  awake  and  get  listening  for 
sounds.  Just  keep  your  ears  open  any  time  after 
midnight,  when  you  are  lying  in  bed  in  a  lone 
attic  of  a  dark  night.  What  horrid,  strange,  sug- 
gestive, unaccountable  noises  you  will  hear!  The 
stillness  of  night  is  a  vulgar  error.  All  the  dead 
things  seem  to  be  alive.  Crack !  That  is  the  old 
chest  of  drawers ;  you  never  hear  it  crack  in  the 
daytime.  Creak !  There's  a  door  ajar ;  you  know 
you  shut  them  all.  Where  can  that  latch  be  that 
rattles  so  ?     Is  anybody  trying  it  softly  ?    or,  worse 

than    any    body,  is — ?     (Cold   shiver.)      Then 

a  sudden  gust  that  jars  all  the  windows; — very 
strange !  —  there  does  not  seem  to*  be  any  wind 
about  that  it  belongs  to.  When  it  stops,  you 
hear  the  worms  boring  in  the  powdery  beams 
overhead.  Then  steps  outside,  —  a  stray  animal, 
no  doubt.  All  right,  —  but  a  gentle  moisture 
breaks  out  all  over  you  ;  and  then  something  like 
a  whistle  or  a  cry,  —  another  gust  of  wind,  per- 
haps ;  that  accounts  for  the  rustling  that  just  made 


THY.   PROFESSOB    \T    lili:    BBEAKFAST-TABLE.       207 

your  heart  roll  over  and  tumble  about,  so  that  it 
felt  more  like  a  live  rat  under  your  ribs  than  a 
part  of  your  own  body;  then  a  crash  of  some- 
thing   that    has    fallen,  —  blown    over,    very   likely 

Pater   noster,   qui  es  in   caelis !   for  you  are 

damp  and  cold,  and  sitting  bolt  upright,  and  the 
bed  trembling  so  that  the  death-watch  is  frightened 
and  has  stopped  ticking ! 

No,  —  night  is  an  awful  time  for  strange  noises 
and  secret  doings.  Who  ever  dreamed,  till  one 
of  our  sleepless  neighbors  told  us  of  it,  of  that 
Walpurgis  gathering  of  birds  and  beasts  of  prey, 
—  foxes,  and  owls,  and  crows,  and  eagles,  that 
come  from  all  the  country  round  on  moonshiny 
nights  to  crunch  the  clams  and  muscles,  and  pick 
out  the  eyes  of  dead  fishes  that  the  storm  has 
thrown  on  Chelsea  Beach  ?  Our  old  mother  Na- 
ture has  pleasant  and  cheery  tones  enough  for  us 
when  she  comes  in  her  dress  of  blue  and  gold 
over  the  eastern  hill-tops ;  but  when  she  follows 
us  up-stairs  to  our  beds  in  her  suit  of  black  velvet 
and  diamonds,  every  creak  of  her  sandals  and 
every  whisper  of  her  lips  is  full  of  mystery  and 
fear. 

You  understand,  then,  distinctly,  that  I  do  not 
believe  there  is  anything  about  this  singular  little 
neighbor  of  mine  which  is  as  it  should  not  be. 
Probably  a  visit  to  his  room  would  clear  up  all 
that    has    puzzled   me,  and    make  me  laugh  at  the 


208       THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

notions  which  began,  I  suppose,  in  nightmares, 
and  ended  by  keeping  my  imagination  at  work  so 
as  almost  to  make  me  uncomfortable  at  times. 
But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  visit  him  as  some  of  our 
other  boarders,  for  various  reasons  which  I  will 
not  stop  to  mention.  I  think  some  of  them  are 
rather  pleased  to  get  "  the  Professor "  under  their 
ceilings. 

The  young  man  John,  for  instance,  asked  me 
to  come  up  one  day  and  try  some  "  old  Burbon," 
which  he  said  was  A  1.  On  asking  him  what 
was  the  number  of  his  room,  he  answered,  that 
it  was  forty-'leven,  sky-parlor  floor,  but  that  I 
shouldn't  find  it,  if  he  didn't  go  ahead  to  show 
me  the  way.  I  followed  him  to  his  habitat,  being 
very  willing  to  see  in  what  kind  of  warren  he 
burrowed,  and  thinking  I  might  pick  up  some- 
thing about  the  boarders  who  had  excited  my 
curiosity. 

Mighty  close  quarters  they  were  where  the 
young  man  John  bestowed  himself  and  his  furni- 
ture ;  this  last  consisting  of  a  bed,  a  chair,  a 
bureau,  a  trunk,  and  numerous  pegs  with  coats 
and  "pants"  and  "vests,"  —  as  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  calling  waistcoats  and  pantaloons  or  trou- 
sers, —  hanging  up  as  if  the  owner  had  melted 
out  of  them.  Several  prints  were  pinned  up  un- 
framed, —  among  them  that  grand  national  por- 
trait-piece,   "Barnum    presenting    Ossian  E.  Dodge 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      200 

to  Jenny  Lind,"  and  a  picture  of  a  famous  trot, 
in  which  I  admired  anew  the  cabalistic  air  of  that 
imposing  array  of  expressions,  and  especially  the 
Italicized  word,  "  Dan  Mace  names  b.  h.  Major 
Slocum."  and  "  Hiram  Woodruff  names  g.  m. 
Lady  Smith."  "Best  three  in  five.  Time:  2.40, 
2.46,  2,30." 

That  set  me  thinking  how  very  odd  this  matter 
of  trotting  horses  is,  as  an  index  of  the  mathe- 
matical exactness  of  the  laws  of  living  mechanism. 
I  saw  Lady  Suffolk  trot  a  mile  in  2.26.  Flora 
Temple  has  trotted  close  down  to  2.20 ;  and 
Ethan  Allen  in  2.2-5,  or  less.  Many  horses  have 
trotted  their  mile  under  2.30 ;  none  that  I  remem- 
ber in  public  as  low  down  as  2.20.  From  five 
to  ten  seconds,  then,  in  about  a  hundred  and  sixty 
is  the  whole  range  of  the  maxima  of  the  present 
race  of  trotting-horses.  The  same  thing  is  seen  in 
the  running  of  men.  Many  can  run  a  mile  in  five 
minutes;  but  when  one  comes  to  the  fractions  be- 
low, they  taper  down  until  somewhere  about  4.30 
the  maximum  is  reached.  Averages  of  masses 
have  been  studied  more  than  averages  of  maxima 
and  minima.  We  know  from  the  Registrar- Gen- 
eral's Reports,  that  a  certain  number  of  children  — 
say  from  one  to  two  dozen  —  die  every  year  in 
England  from  drinking  hot  water  out  of  spouts 
of  teakettles.  We  know,  that,  among  suicides, 
women  and  men  past  a  certain    age    almost    never 


210       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

use  fire-arms.  A  woman  who  has  made  up  her 
mind  to  die  is  still  afraid  of  a  pistol  or  a  gun. 
Or  is  it  that  the  explosion  would  derange  her 
costume  ?  I  say,  averages  of  masses  we  have ; 
but  our  tables  of  maxima  we  owe  to  the  sporting 
men  more  than  to  the  philosophers.  The  lesson 
their  experience  teaches  is,  that  Nature  makes  no 
leaps,  —  does  nothing  per  saltum.  The  greatest 
brain  that  ever  lived,  no  doubt,  was  only  a  small 
fraction  of  an  idea  ahead  of  the  second  best.  Just 
look  at  the  chess-players.  Leaving  out  the  phe- 
nomenal exceptions,  the  nice  shades  that  separate 
the  skilful  ones  show  how  closely  their  brains  ap- 
proximate, —  almost  as  closely  as  chronometers. 
Such  a  person  is  a  "  &mg7i£-player,"  —  he  must 
have  that  piece  given  him.  Another  must  have 
two  pawns.  Another,  "  pawn  and  two,"  or  one 
pawn  and  two  moves.  Then  we  find  one  who 
claims  "  pawn  and  move,"  holding  himself,  with 
this  fractional  advantage,  a  match  for  one  who 
would  be  pretty  sure  to  beat  him  playing  even.  — 
So  much  are  minds  alike ;  and  you  and  I  think 
we  are  "  peculiar,"  —  that  Nature  broke  her  jelly- 
mould  after  shaping  our  cerebral  convolutions ! 
So  I  reflected,  standing  and  looking  at  the  pic- 
ture. 

1  say,  Governor,  —  broke  in  the  young  man 

John, — them  hosses  '11    stay  jest  as  well,  if   you'll 
only  set    down.     I've    had  'em  this   year,  and  they 


THK  PROFESSOB    AT  THE   BRRAKFAST-TABLE.      211 

haven't  stirred. —  He  spoke,  and  handed  the  chair 
towards  me,  —  seating  himself,  at  the  same  time, 
on  the  end  of  the  bed. 

You  have  lived  in  this  house  some  time  ?  —  I 
said.  —  with  a  note  of  interrogation  at  the  end  of 
the  statement. 

Do  I  look  as  if  I'd  lost  much  flesh?  —  said  he, 
—  answering  my  question  by  another. 

No,  —  said  I ;  —  for  that  matter,  I  think  you  do 
credit  to  "  the  bountifully  furnished  table  of  the 
excellent  lady  who  provides  so  liberally  for  the 
company  that  meets  around  her  hospitable  board." 

[The  sentence  in  quotation-marks  was  from  one 
of  those  disinterested  editorials  in  small  type, 
which  I  suspect  to  have  been  furnished  by  a 
friend  of  the  landlady's,  and  paid  for  as  an  adver- 
tisement. This  impartial  testimony  to  the  superior 
qualities  of  the  establishment  and  its  head  at- 
tracted a  number  of  applicants  for  admission,  and 
a  couple  of  new  boarders  made  a  brief  appearance 
at  the  table.  One  of  them  was  of  the  class  of 
people  who  grumble  if  they  don't  get  canvas-backs 
and  woodcocks  every  day,  for  three-fifty  per  week. 
The  other  was  subject  to  somnambulism,  or  walk- 
ing in  the  night,  when  he  ought  to  have  been 
ep  in  his  bed.  In  this  state  he  walked  into 
era]  of  the  boarders'  chambers,  his  eyes  wide 
open,  as  is  usual  with  somnambulists,  and,  from 
some  odd  instinct  or  other,  wishing  to  know  what 


212       THE   PROFESSOK  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

the  hour  was,  got  together  a  number  of  their 
watches,  for  the  purpose  of  comparing  them,  as  it 
would  seem.  Among  them  was  a  repeater,  be- 
longing to  our  young  Marylander.  He  happened 
to  wake  up  while  the  somnambulist  was  in  his 
chamber,  and,  not  knowing  his  infirmity,  caught 
hold  of  him  and  gave  him  a  dreadful  shaking, 
after  which  he  tied  his  hands  and  feet,  and  so 
left  him  till  morning,  when  he  introduced  him  to 
a  gentleman  used  to  taking  care  of  such  cases  of 
somnambulism.] 

If  you,  my  reader,  will  please  to  skip  backward, 
over  this  parenthesis,  you  will  come  to  our  con- 
versation, which  it  has  interrupted. 

It  a'n't  the  feed,  —  said  the  young  man  John, — 
it's  the  old  woman's  looks  when  a  fellah  lays  it  in 
too  strong.  The  feed's  well  enough.  After  geese 
have  got  tough,  'n'  turkeys  have  got  strong,  'n' 
lamb's  got  old,  'n'  veal's  pretty  nigh  beef,  'n'  spar- 
ragrass's  growin'  tall  'n'  slim  'n*  scattery  about  the 
head,  'n'  green  peas  are  gettin'  so  big  'n'  hard 
they'd  be  dangerous  if  you  fired  'em  out  of  a 
revolver,  we  get  hold  of  all  them  delicacies  of  the 
season.  But  it's  too  much  like  feedin'  on  live 
folks  and  devourin'  widdah's  substance,  to  lay 
yourself  out  in  the  eatin'  way,  when  a  fellah's  as 
hungry  as  the  chap  that  said  a  turkey  was  too 
much  for  one  'n'  not  enough  for  two.  I  can't 
help  lookin'  at  the    old  woman.      Corned-beef-days 


CHE   PBOFESSOB    A  1    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       218 

she's  tolerable  calm.  Roastin'-days  she  worries 
some,  V  keeps  a  sharp  eye  on  the  chap  that 
carves.  But  when  there's  anything  in  the  poultry 
line,  it  seems  to  hurt  her  feelin's  so  to  see  the 
knife  goin'  into  the  breast  and  joints  comin'  to 
pieces,  that  there's  no  comfort  in  eatin'.  When 
1  eut  up  an  old  fowl  and  help  the  boarders,  I 
always  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  say,  Won't  you  have 
a  slice  of  widdah  ?  —  instead  of  chicken. 

The  young  man  John  fell  into  a  train  of  reflec- 
tions which  ended  in  his  producing  a  Bologna 
sausage,  a  plate  of  "crackers,"  as  we  Boston  folks 
call  certain  biscuits,  and  the  bottle  of  whiskey  de- 
scribed as  being  A  1. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  crackers  and  sausage, 
he  grew  cordial  and  communicative. 

It  was  time,  I  thought,  to  sound  him  as  to 
those  of  our  boarders  who  had  excited  my  curi- 
osity. 

What  do  you  think  of  our  young  Iris?  —  I 
began. 

Fust-rate  little  filly;  —  he  said.  —  Pootiest  and 
nicest  little  chap  I've  seen  since  the  schoolma'am 
left.  Schoolma'am  was  a  brown-haired  one, — 
eyes  coffee-color.  This  one  has  got  wine-colored 
3,  —  'n  that's  the  reason  they  turn  a  fellah's 
head,  I  suppose. 

This  is  a  splendid  blonde,  —  I  said,  —  the  other 
wafl  a  brunette.     Which  style  do  you  like  best? 


214       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Which  do  I  like  best,  boiled  mutton  or  roast 
mutton  ?  —  said  the  young  man  John.  Like  'em 
both,  —  it  a'n't  the  color  of  'em  makes  the  good- 
ness. I've  been  kind  of  lonely  since  schoolma'am 
went  away.  Used  to  like  to  look  at  her.  I  never 
said  anything  particular  to  her,  that  I  remember, 
but 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  cracker  and 
sausage,  or  that  the  young  fellow's  feet  were 
treading  on  the  hot  ashes  of  some  longing  that 
had  not  had  time  to  cool,  but  his  eye  glistened 
as  he  stopped. 

I  suppose  she  wouldn't  have  looked  at  a  fellah 
like  me,  —  he  said, — but  I  come  pretty  near 
tryin'.  If  she  had  said,  Yes,  though,  I  shouldn't 
have  known  what  to  have  done  with  her.  Can't 
marry  a  woman  now-a-days  till  you're  so  deaf 
you  have  to  cock  your  head  like  a  parrot  to  hear 
what  she  says,  and  so  long-sighted  you  can't  see 
what  she  looks  like  nearer  than  arm's-length. 

Here  is  another  chance  for  you,  —  I  said. — 
What  do  you  want  nicer  than  such  a  young  lady 
as  Iris  ? 

It's  no  use,  —  he  answered.  —  I  look  at  them 
girls  and  feel  as  the  fellah  did  when  he  missed 
catchin'  the  trout.  — '  To'od  'a'  cost  more  butter  to 
cook  him  'n'  he's  worth, — says  the  fellah. —  Takes 
a  whole  piece  o'  goods  to  cover  a  girl  up  now-a- 
days.     I'd    as    lief   undertake    to    keep    a    span  of 


TILE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BBEAKF  AST-TABLE.      215 

elephants, —  and  take  an  ostrich  to  board,  too, — 
as  to  marry  one  of  'em.  What's  the  use?  Clerks 
and  counter-jumpers  a'n't  anything.  Sparragrass 
and  green  peas  a'n't  for. them,  —  not  while  they're 
young  and  tender.  Hossback-ridin'  a'n't  for  them, 
—  except  once  a  year,  —  on  Fast-day.  And  rnar- 
ryin'  a'n't  for  them.  Sometimes  a  fellah  feels  lone- 
ly, and  would  like  to  have  a  nice  young  woman, 
to  tell  her  how  lonely  he  feels.  And  sometimes  a 
fellah,  —  here  the  young  man  John  looked  very 
confidential,  and,  perhaps,  as  if  a  little  ashamed  of 
his  weakness,  —  sometimes  a  fellah  would  like  to 
have  one  o'  them  small  young  ones  to  trot  on  his 
knee  and  push  about  in  a  little  wagon,  —  a  kind 
of  a  little  Johnny,  you  know; — it's  odd  enough, 
but,  it  seems  to  me,  nobody  can  afford  them  little 
articles,  except  the  folks  that  are  so  rich  they  can 
buy  everything,  and  the  folks  that  are  so  poor 
they  don't  want  anything.  It  makes  nice  boys  of 
us  young  fellahs,  no  doubt !  And  it's  pleasant  to 
see  fine  young  girls  sittin',  like  shopkeepers  behind 
their  goods,  waitin',  and  waitin',  and  waitin',  'n' 
no  customers,  —  and  the  men  lingerin'  round  and 
lookin'  at  the  goods,  like  folks  that  want  to  be 
>mers,  but  haven't  got  the  money! 

Do  you  think  the  deformed  gentleman  means 
to  make  love  to   Iris? — I  said. 

Whal  !  Little  Boston  ask  that  girl  to  marry 
him !     Well,  now,  that's    comin'   of  it   a   little  too 


216      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

strong.  Yes,  I  guess  she  will  marry  him  and 
carry  him  round  in  a  basket,  like  a  lame  bantam ! 
Look  here  !  —  he  said,  mysteriously  ;  —  one  of  the 
boarders  swears  there's  a  woman  comes  to  see 
him,  and  that  he  has  heard  her  singin'  and 
screechin'.  I  should  like  to  know  what  he's  about 
in    that   den   of   his.      He  lays  low  'n'  keeps  dark, 

—  and,  I  tell  you,  there's  a  good  many  of  the 
boarders  would  like  to  get  into  his  chamber,  but 
he  don't  seem  to  want  'em.  Biddy  could  tell 
somethin'  about  what  she's  seen  when  she's  been 
to  put  his  room  to  rights.  She's  a  Paddy  'n'  a 
fool,  but  she  knows  enough  to  keep  her  tongue 
still.  All  I  know  is,  I  saw  her  crossin'  herself 
one  day  when  she  came  out  of  that  room.  She 
looked  pale  enough,  'n'  I  heard  her  mutterin' 
somethin'  or  other  about  the  Blessed  Virgin.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  the  double  doors  to  that  cham- 
ber of  his,  I'd  have  had  a  squint  inside  before 
this ;  but,  somehow  or  other,  it  never  seems  to 
happen  that  they're    both  open  at  once. 

What  do  you  think  he  employs   himself   about? 

—  said  I. 

The  young  man  John  winked. 

I  waited  patiently  for  the  thought,  of  which 
this  wink  was  the  blossom,  to  come  to  fruit  in 
words. 

I  don't  believe  in  witches,  —  said  the  young 
man  John. 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.      217 

Nor  I. 

We  were  both  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 

Did  you  ever  see  the  young  girl's  drawing- 


books,  —  I  said,  presently. 

All  but  one,  —  he  answered ;  —  she  keeps  a  lock 
on  that,  and  won't  show  it.  Ma'am  Allen,  (the 
young  rogue  sticks  to  that  name,  in  speaking  of 
the  gentleman  with  the  diamond,)  Ma'am  Allen 
tried  to  peek  into  it  one  day  when  she  left  it  on 
the  sideboard.  "  If  you  please,"  says  she,  —  'n' 
took  it  from  him,  'n'  gave  him  a  look  that  made 
him  curl  up  like  a  caterpillar  on  a  hot  shovel.  I 
only  wished  he  hadn't,  and  had  jest  given  her  a 
little  saas,  for  I've  been  takin'  boxin'-lessons,  'n' 
I've  got  a  new  way  of  counterin'  I  want  to  try 
on  to  somebody. 

The  end  of  all  this  was,  that  I  came  away 

from  the  young  fellow's  room,  feeling  that  there 
were  two  principal  things  that  I  had  to  live  for, 
for  the  next  six  weeks  or  six  months,  if  it  should 
take  so  long.  These  were,  to  get  a  sight  of  the 
young  girl's  drawing-book,  which  I  suspected  had 
her  heart  shut  up  in  it,  and  to  get  a  look  into 
the  Little   Gentleman's  room. 

I  don't  doubt  you  think  it  rather  absurd   that   I 

should    trouble    myself   about   these    matters.     You 

tell  me,  with  some  show  of  reason,  that  all  I  shall 

find   in    the    young   girl's    book  will    be    some  out- 

10 


218       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

lines  of  angels  with  immense  eyes,  traceries  of 
flowers,  rural  sketches,  and  caricatures,  among 
which  I  shall  probably  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
my  own  features  figuring.  Very  likely.  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  think  I  shall  find.  If  this  child 
has  idealized  the  strange  little  bit  of  humanity 
over  which  she  seems  to  have  spread  her  wings 
like  a  brooding  dove,  —  if,  in  one  of  those  wild 
vagaries  that  passionate  natures  are  so  liable  to, 
she  has  fairly  sprung  upon  him  with  her  clasping 
nature,  as  the  sea-flowers  fold  about  the  first  stray 
shell-fish  that  brushes  their  outspread  tentacles, 
depend  upon  it,  I  shall  find  the  marks  of  it  in 
this  drawing-book  of  hers,  —  if  I  can  ever  get  a 
look  at  it,  —  fairly,  of  course,  for  I  would  not  play 
tricks  to  satisfy  my  curiosity. 

Then,  if  I  can  get  into  this  Little  Gentleman's 
room  under  any  fair  pretext,  I  shall,  no  doubt, 
satisfy  myself  in  five  minutes  that  he  is  just  like 
other  people,  and  that  there  is  no  particular  mys- 
tery about  him. 

The  night  after  my  visit  to  the  young  man 
John,  I  made  all  these  and  many  more  reflections. 
It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  —  bright 
starlight,  —  so  light  that  I  could  make  out  the 
time  on  my  alarm-clock,  —  when  I  woke  up 
trembling  and  very  moist.  It  was  the  heavy, 
dragging  sound,  as  I  had  often  heard  it  before, 
that  waked    me.     Presently    a   window  was  softly 


THI   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       219 

closed.  I  had  just  begun  to  get  over  the  agitation 
with  which  we  always  awake  from  nightmare 
dreams,  when  I  heard  the  sound  which  seemed  to 
me  as  of  a  woman's  voice,  —  the  clearest,  purest 
soprano  which  one  could  well  conceive  of.  It  was 
not  loud,  and  I  could  not  distinguish  a  word,  if 
it  was  a  woman's  voice ;  but  there  were  recurring 
phrases  of  sound  and  snatches  of  rhythm  that 
reached  me,  which  suggested  the  idea  of  com- 
plaint, and  sometimes,  I  thought,  of  passionate 
grief  and  despair.  It  died  away  at  last,  —  and 
then  I  heard  the  opening  of  a  door,  followed  by 
a  low,  monotonous  sound,  as  of  one  talking, — 
and  then  the  closing  of  a  door, —  and  presently 
the  light  on  the  opposite  wall  disappeared  and  all 
was  still  for  the  night. 

By  George!  this  gets  interesting, —  I  said,  as  I 
got  out  of  bed  for  a  change  of  night-clothes. 

I  had  this  in  my  pocket  the  other  day,  but 
thought  I  wouldn't  read  it  at  our  celebration.  So 
I  read  it  to  the  boarders  instead,  and  print  it  to 
finish  off  this  record  with. 


(- 


220       THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


ROBINSON   OF  LEYDEN. 

He  sleeps  not  here  ;  in  hope  and  prayer 
His  wandering  flock  had  gone  before, 

But  he,  the  shepherd,  might  not  share 
Their  sorrows  on  the  wintry  shore. 

Before  the  Speedwell's  anchor  swung, 
Ere  yet  the  Mayflower's  sail  was  spread, 

While  round  his  feet  the  Pilgrims  clung, 
The  pastor  spake,  and  thus  he  said  :  — 

"  Men,  brethren,  sisters,  children  dear ! 

God  calls  you  hence  from  over  sea; 
Ye  may  not  build  by  Haerlem  Meer, 

Nor  yet  along  the  Zuyder-Zee. 

"  Ye  go  to  bear  the  saving  word 

To  tribes  unnamed  and  shores  untrod : 

Heed  well  the  lessons  ye  have  heard 
From  those  old  teachers  taught  of  God. 

!UYet  think  not  unto  them  was  lent 
All  light  for  all  the  coming  days, 

And  Heaven's  eternal  wisdom  spent 
In  making  straight  the  ancient  ways. 

"  The  living  fountain  overflows 
For  every  flock,  for  every  lamb, 

Nor  heeds,  though  angry  creeds  oppose 
With  Luther's  dike  or  Calvin's  dam." 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BEEAKP AST-TABLE.       221 

He  spake  ;  with  lingering,  long  embrace, 

With  tears  of  love  and  partings  fond, 
They  floated  down  the  creeping  Maas, 

Along  the  isle  of  Ysselmond. 

They  passed  the  frowning  towers  of  Briel, 
The  "  Hook  of  Holland's"  shelf  of  sand, 

And  grated  soon  with  lifting  keel 
The  sullen  shores  of  Fatherland. 

Xo  home  for  these  !  —  too  well  they  knew 
The  mitred  king  behind  the  throne;  — 

The  sails  were  set,  the  pennons  flew, 
And  westward  ho  !  for  worlds  unknown. 

—  And  these  were  they  who  gave  us  birth, 

The  Pilgrims  of  the  sunset  wave, 
Who  won  for  us  this  virgin  earth, 

And  freedom  with  the  soil  they  gave. 

The  pastor  slumbers  by  the  Rhine, — 

In  alien  earth  the  exiles  lie,  — 
Their  nameless  graves  our  holiest  shrine, 

His  words  our  noblest  battle-cry ! 

Still  cry  them,  and  the  world  shall  hear, 

Ye  dwellers  by  the  storm-swept  sea  ! 
Ye  have  not  built  by  Haerlem  Meer, 

Nor  on  the  land-locked  Zuyder-Zee  ! 


222      THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


VIII. 

There  has  been  a  sort  of  stillness  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  our  boarding-house  since  my  last  record, 
as  if  something  or  other  were  going  on.  There  is 
no  particular  change  that  I  can  think  of  in  the 
aspect  of  things ;  yet  I  have  a  feeling  as  if  some 
game  of  life  were  quietly  playing  and  strange 
forces  were  at  work,  underneath  this  smooth  sur- 
face of  e very-day  boarding-house  life,  which  would 
show  themselves  some  fine  morning  or  other  in 
events,  if  not  in  catastrophes.  I  have  been  watch- 
ful, as  I  said  I  should  be,  but  have  little  to  tell 
as  yet.  You  may  laugh  at  me,  and  very  likely 
think  me  foolishly  fanciful  to  trouble  myself  about 
what  is  going  on  in  a  middling-class  household 
like  ours.  Do  as  you  like.  But  here  is  that  terri- 
ble fact  to  begin  with,  —  a  beautiful  young  girl, 
with  the  blood  and  the  nerve-fibre  that  belong  to 
Nature's  women,  turned  loose  among  live  men. 

Terrible  fact? 

Very  terrible.  Nothing  more  so.  Do  you  forget 
the  angels  who  lost  heaven  for  the  daughters  of 
men  ?  Do  you  forget  Helen,  and  the  fair  women 
who  made  mischief  and  set  nations  by  the  ears 
before  Helen  was  born  ?  If  jealousies  that  gnaw 
men's  hearts  out   of  their   bodies,  —  if   pangs   that 


THE   PROFESSOB   AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE,       223 

waste  men  to  Bhadows  and  drive  them  into  raving 
madness  or  moping  melancholy,  —  if  assassination 
and  suicide  are  dreadful  possibilities,  then  there  is 
alw.  nething    frightful    about  a   lovely  young 

woman. —  I  love  to  look  at  this  "Rainbow,"  as 
her  father  used  sometimes  to  call  her,  of  ours. 
Handsome  creature  that  she  is  in  forms  and 
colors,  —  the  very  picture,  as  it  seems  to  me,  of 
that  "golden  blonde"  my  friend  whose  book  you 
read  last  year  fell  in  love  with  when  he  was  a 
boy.  (as  you  remember,  no  doubt,)  —  handsome  as 
she  is,  fit  for  a  sea-king's  bride,  it  is  not  her 
beauty  alone  that  holds  my  eyes  upon  her.  Let 
me  tell  you  one  of  my  fancies,  and  then  you  will 
understand  the  strange  sort  of  fascination  she  has 
for  me. 

It  is  in  the  hearts  of  many  men  and  women  — 
let  me  add  children  —  that  there  is  a  Great  Secret 
waiting  for  them,  —  a  secret  of  which  they  get 
hints  now  and  then,  perhaps  oftener  in  early  than 
in  later  years.  These  hints  come  sometimes  in 
dreams,  sometimes  in  sudden  startling  flashes. — 
second  wakings,  as  it  were,  —  a  waking  out  of  the 
waking  state,  which  last  is  very  apt  to  be  a  half- 
sleep.  I  have  many  times  stopped  short  and  held 
my  breath,  and  felt  the  blood  Leaving  my  cheeks, 
in  one  of  these  sudden  clairvoyant  flashes.  Of 
course  I  cannot  tell  what  kind  of  a  secret  this  i- ; 
but  1  think  of   it    as   a   disclosure    of    certain   rela- 


224   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

tions  of  our  personal  being  to  time  and  space,  to 
other  intelligences,  to  the  procession  of  events,  and 
to  their  First  Great  Cause.  This  secret  seems  to 
be  broken  up,  as  it  were,  into  fragments,  so  that 
we  find  here  a  word  and  there  a  syllable,  and  then 
again  only  a  letter  of  it  ;  but  it  never  is  written 
out  for  most  of  us  as  a  complete  sentence,  in  this 
life.  I  do  not  think  it  could  be ;  for  I  am  dis- 
posed to  consider  our  beliefs  about  such  a  possible 
disclosure  rather  as  a  kind  of  premonition  of  an 
enlargement  of  our  faculties  in  some  future  state 
than  as  an  expectation  to  be  fulfilled  for  most  of 
us  in  this  life.  Persons,  however,  have  fallen  into 
trances,  —  as  did  the  Reverend  William  Tennent, 
among  many  others,  —  and  learned  some  things 
which  they  could  not  tell  in  our  human  words. 

Now  among  the  visible  objects  which  hint  to 
us  fragments  of  this  infinite  secret  for  which  our 
souls  are  waiting,  the  faces  of  women  are  those 
that  carry  the  most  legible  hieroglyphics  of  the 
great  mystery.  There  are  women's  faces,  some 
real,  some  ideal,  which  contain  something  in  them 
that  becomes  a  positive  element  in  our  creed,  so 
direct  and  palpable  a  revelation  is  it  of  the  in- 
finite purity  and  love.  I  remember  two  faces  of 
women  with  wings,  such  as  they  call  angels,  of 
Fra  Angelico,  —  and  I  just  now  came  across  a 
print  of  Raphael's  Santa  Apollina,  with  something 
of  the  same  quality,  —  which  I  was  sure  had  their 


THE   PROFESSOB    AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       225 

prototypes .  in  the  world  above  ours.  No  wonder 
the  Catholics  pay  Their  vows  to  the  Queen  of 
Heaven!  The  unpoetieal  side  of  Protestantism  is, 
that  it  has  no  women  to  be  worshipped. 

But  mind  yon,  it  is  not  every  beautiful  face 
that  hints  the  Great  Secret  to  us,  nor  is  it  only 
in  beautiful  faces  that  we  find  traces  of  it.  Some- 
times it  looks  out  from  a  sweet  sad  eye,  the  only 
beauty  of  a  plain  countenance ;  sometimes  there 
is  so  much  meaning  in  the  lips  of  a  woman,  not 
otherwise  fascinating,  that  w^e  know  they  have  a 
message  for  us,  and  wait  almost  with  awe  to  hear 
their  accents.  But  this  young  girl  has  at  once 
the  beauty  of  feature  and  the  unspoken  mystery 
of  expression.  Can  she  tell  me  anything  ?  Is  her 
life  a  complement  of  mine,  with  the  missing  ele- 
ment in  it  which  I  have  been  groping  after 
through  so  many  friendships  that  I  have  tired  of, 
and  through Hush !  Is  the  door  fast  ?  Talk- 
ing loud  is  a  bad  trick  in  these  curious  boarding- 
hou- 

You  must  have  sometimes  noted  this  fact  that 
I  am  going  to  remind  you  of  and  to  use  for  a 
special  illustration.  Riding  along  over  a  rocky 
road,  suddenly  the  slow  monotonous  grinding  of 
the  crushing  gravel  changes  to  a  deep  heavy  rum- 
ble. There  is  a  great  hollow  under  your  feet,  —  a 
bilge  unsunned  cavern.  Deep,  deep  beneath  you, 
in  the  core  of  the  living  rock,  it  arches  its  awful 
10* 


226   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

vault,  and  far  away  it  stretches  its  winding  gal- 
leries, their  roofs  dripping  into  streams  where 
fishes  have  been  swimming  and  spawning  in  the 
dark  until  their  scales  are  white  as  milk  and  their 
eyes  have  withered  out,  obsolete  and  useless. 

So  it  is  in  life.  We  jog  quietly  along,  meeting 
the  same  faces,  grinding  over  the  same  thoughts, 
—  the  gravel  of  the  soul's  highway,  —  now  and 
then  jarred  against  an  obstacle  we  cannot  crush, 
but  must  ride  over  or  round  as  we  best  may, 
sometimes  bringing  short  up  against  a  disappoint- 
ment, but  still  working  along  with  the  creaking 
and  rattling  and  grating  and  jerking  that  belong 
to  the  journey  of  life,  even  in  the  smoothest-rolling 
vehicle.  Suddenly  we  hear  the  deep  under-ground 
reverberation  that  reveals  the  unsuspected  depth 
of  some  abyss  of  thought  or  passion  beneath 
us. 

I  wish  the  girl  would  go.  I  don't  like  to  look 
at  her  so  much,  and  yet  I  cannot  help  it.  Always 
that  same  expression  of  something  that  I  ought 
to  know,  —  something  that  she  was  made  to  tell 
and  I  to  hear,  —  lying  there  ready  to  fall  off  from 
her  lips,  ready  to  leap  out  of  her  eyes  and  make 
a  saint  of  me,  or  a  devil  or  a  lunatic,  or  perhaps 
a  prophet  to  tell  the  truth  and  be  hated  of  men, 
or  a  poet  whose  words  shall  flash  upon  the  dry 
stubble-field  of  worn-out  thoughts  and  burn  over 
an  age  of  lies  in  an  hour  of  passion. 


THE   PROFESSOB   AT  THE   BKEAKFAST-TABLE.      227 

It  suddenly  occurs  to  me  that  I  may  have  put 
you  on  the  wrong  track.  The  Great  Secret  that 
I  refer  to  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Three 
Words.  Set  your  mind  at  ease  about  that,  — 
there  are  reasons  I  could  give  you  which  settle 
all  tli at  matter.  I  don't  wonder,  however,  that 
you  confounded  the  Great  Secret  with  the  Three 
Words. 

I  love  you  is  all  the  secret  that  many,  nay, 
most  women  have  to  tell.  When  that  is  said, 
they  are  like  China-crackers  on  the  morning  of 
the  fifth  of  July.  And  just  as  that  little  patriotic 
implement  is  made  with  a  slender  train  which 
leads  to  the  magazine  in  its  interior,  so  a  sharp 
eye  can  almost  always  see  the  train  leading  from 
a  young  girl's  eye  or  lip  to  the  "  I  love  you "  in 
her  heart.  But  the  Three  Words  are  not  the 
Great  Secret  I  mean.  No,  women's  faces  are 
only  one  of  the  tablets  on  which  that  is  written 
in  its  partial,  fragmentary  symbols.  It  lies  deeper 
than  Love,  though  very  probably  Love  is  a  part 
of  it.  Some,  I  think, —  Wordsworth  might  be 
one  of  them,  —  spell  out  a  portion  of  it  from  cer- 
tain beautiful  natural  objects,  landscapes,  flowers, 
and  others.  I  can  mention  several  poems  of  his 
that  have  shadowy  hints  which  seem  to  me  to 
come  near  the  region  where  I  think  it  lies.  I 
have  known  two  persons  who  pursued  it  with  the 
passion    of    the    old    alchemists,  —  all    wrong    evi- 


228       THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

dently,  but  infatuated,  and  never  giving  up  the 
daily  search  for  it  until  they  got  tremulous  and 
feeble,  and  their  dreams  changed  to  visions  of 
things  that  ran  and  crawled  about  their  floor  and 
ceilings,  and  so  they  died.  The  vulgar  called 
them  drunkards. 

I  told  you  that  I  would  let  you  know  the  mys- 
tery of  the  effect  this  young  girl's  face  produces 
on  me.  It  is  akin  to  those  influences  a  friend  of 
mine  has  described,  you  may  remember,  as  coming 
from  certain  voices.  I  cannot  translate  it  into 
words,  —  only  into  feelings;  and  these  I  have  at- 
tempted to  shadow  by  showing  that  her  face 
hinted  that  revelation  of  something  we  are  close 
to  knowing,  which  all  imaginative  persons  are 
looking  for  either  in  this  world  or  on  the  very 
threshold  of  the  next. 

You  shake  your  head  at  the  vagueness  and 
fanciful  incomprehensibleness  of  my  description  of 
the  expression  in  a  young  girl's  face.  You  forget 
what  a  miserable  surface-matter  this  language  is 
in  which  we  try  to  reproduce  our  interior  state 
of  being.  Articulation  is  a  shallow  trick.  From 
the  light  Poh !  which  we  toss  off  from  our  lips  as 
we  fling  a  nameless  scribbler's  impertinences  into 
our  waste-baskets,  to  the  gravest  utterance  which 
comes  from  our  throats  in  our  moments  of  deepest 
need,  is  only  a  space  of  some  three  or  four  inches. 
Words,    which    are    a    set    of    clickings,    hissings, 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       229 

lispings,  and  so  on,  mean  very  little,  compared  to 
tones  and  expression  of  the  features.  I  give  it 
\i p  :  I  thought  I  could  shadow  forth  in  some 
feeble  way,  by  their  aid,  the  effect  this  young 
girl's  face  produces  on  my  imagination ;  but  it  is 
of  no  use.  No  doubt  your  head  aches,  trying  to 
make  something  of  my  description.  If  there  is 
here  and  there  one  that  can  make  anything  intel- 
ligible out  of  rny  talk  about  the  Great  Secret,  and 
who  has  spelt  out  a  syllable  or  two  of  it  on  some 
woman's  face,  dead  or  living,  that  is  all  I  can  ex- 
pect. One  should  see  the  person  with  whom  he 
converses  about  such  matters.  There  are  dreamy- 
eyed  people  to  whom  I  should  say  all  these  things 
with  a  certainty  of  being  understood ;  — 

That  moment  that  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me : 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 

1  am  afraid  some    of  them    have  not  got  a 

spare  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  this  August  number, 
so  that  they  will  never  see  it. 

Let  us  start  again,  just    as   if   we   had   not 

made  this  ambitious  attempt,  which  may  go  for 
nothing,  and  you  can  have  your  money  refunded, 
if  you  will  make  the  change. 

This  young  girl,  about  whom  I  have  talked  so 
unintelligibly,  is  the  unconscious  centre  of  attrac- 
tion   to    the  whole    solar    system   of   our    breakfast- 


230       THE   PKOFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

table.  The  Little  Gentleman  leans  towards  her, 
and  she  again  seems  to  be  swayed  as  by  some 
invisible  gentle  force  towards  him.  That  slight 
inclination  of  two  persons  with  a  strong  affinity 
towards  each  other,  throwing  them  a  little  out  of 
plumb  when  they  sit  side  by  side,  is  a  physical 
fact  I  have  often  noticed.  Then  there  is  a  ten- 
dency in  all  the  men's  eyes  to  converge  on  her ; 
and  I  do  firmly  believe,  that,  if  all  their  chairs 
were  examined,  they  would  be  found  a  little  ob- 
liquely placed,  so  as  to  favor  the  direction  in  which 
their  occupants  love  to  look. 

That  bland,  quiet  old  gentleman,  of  whom  I 
have  spoken  as  sitting  opposite  to  me,  is  no  ex- 
ception to  the  rule.  She  brought  down  some 
mignonette  one  morning,  which  she  had  grown  in 
her  chamber.  She  gave  a  sprig  to  her  little  neigh- 
bor, and  one  to  the  landlady,  and  sent  another  by 
the  hand  of  Bridget  to  this  old  gentleman. 

Sarvant,  Ma'am!   Much  obleeged,  —  he  said, 


and  put  it  gallantly  in  his  button-hole.  —  After 
breakfast  he  must  see  some  of  her  drawings. 
Very  fine  performances,  —  very  fine  !  —  truly  ele- 
gant productions,  —  truly  elegant!  —  Had  seen  Miss 
Linley's  needle-work  in  London,  in  the  year  (eigh- 
teen hundred  and  little  or  nothing,  I  think  he 
said,)  —  patronized  by  the  nobility  and  gentry, 
and  Her  Majesty,  —  elegant,  truly  elegant  produc- 
tions,  very   fine    performances ;   these   drawings   re- 


THE   PBOFESSOB  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       2ol 

minded  him  of  them;  —  wonderful  resemblance  to 
Nature;  an  extraordinary  art,  painting;  Mr.  Copley 
made  some  very  fine  pictures  that  he  remembered 
seeing  when  he  was  a  boy.  Used  to  remember 
some  lines  about  a  portrait  written  by  Mr.  Cow- 
per,  beginning, — 

4-  Oh  that  those  lips  had  language  !     Life  has  pass'd 
"With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last." 

And  with  this  the  old  gentleman  fell  to  thinking 
about  a  dead  mother  of  his  that  he  remembered 
ever  so  much  younger  than  he  now  was,  and 
looking,  not  as  his  mother,  but  as  his  daughter 
should  look.  The  dead  young  mother  was  look- 
ing at  the  old  man,  her  child,  as  she  used  to  look 
at  him  so  many,  many  years  ago.  He  stood  still 
as  if  in  a  waking  dream,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
drawings  till  their  outlines  grew  indistinct  and 
they  ran  into  each  other,  and  a  pale,  sweet  face 
shaped  itself  out  of  the  glimmering  light  through 
which  he  saw  them.  —  What  is  there  quite  so  pro- 
foundly human  as  an  old  man's  memory  of  a 
mother  who  died  in  his  earlier  years  ?  Mother  she 
remains  till  manhood,  and  by-and-by  she  grows  to 
be  as  a  sister ;  and  at  last,  when,  wrinkled  and 
bowed  and  broken,  he  looks  back  upon  her  in  her 
fair  youth,  he  sees  in  the  sweet  image  he  caresses, 
not  his  parent,  but,  as  it  were,  his  child. 

If  I  had  not  seen  all  this  in  the  old  gentleman's 


232      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

face,  the  words  with  which  he  broke  his  silence 
would  have  betrayed  his  train  of  thought. 

If  they    had   only    taken    pictures   then    as 

they  do  now  !  —  he  said.  —  All  gone  !  all  gone  ! 
nothing  but  her  face  as  she  leaned  on  the  arms 
of  her  great  chair;  and  I  would  give  a  hundred 
pound  for  the  poorest  little  picture  of  her,  such  as 
you  can  buy  for  a  shilling  of  anybody  that  you 
don't  want  to  see.  —  The  old  gentleman  put  his 
hand  to  his  forehead  so  as  to  shade  his  eyes.  I 
saw  he  was  looking  at  the  dim  photograph  of 
memory,  and  turned  from  him  to  Iris. 

How    many  drawing-books    have    you   filled,  —  I 

said,  —  since  you  began  to  take  lessons  ? This 

was  the  first,  —  she  answered,  —  since  she  was 
here ;  and  it  was  not  full,  but  there  were  many 
separate  sheets  of  large  size  she  had  covered  with 
drawings. 

I  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  before  us. 
Academic  studies,  principally  of  the  human  figure. 
Heads  of  sibyls,  prophets,  and  so  forth.  Limbs 
from  statues.  Hands  and  feet  from  Nature.  What 
a  superb  drawing  of  an  arm !  I  don't  remember 
it  among  the  figures  from  Michel  Angelo,  which 
seem  to  have  been  her  patterns  mainly.  From 
Nature,  I  think,  or  after  a  cast  from  Nature.  — 
Oh! 

Your  smaller  studies  are  in  this,  I  suppose, 

—  I  said,  taking  up  the  drawing-book  with  a  lock 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       233 

on    it. Yes,  —  she     said. I    should    like    to 

see    her     style    of   working   on    a    small    scale. 

There  was  nothing  in  it  worth  showing,  —  she 
said;  and  presently  I  saw  her  try  the  lock,  which 
proved  to  be  fast.  We  are  all  caricatured  in  it,  I 
haven't  the  least  doubt.  I  think,  though,  I  could 
tell  by  her  way  of  dealing  with  us  what  her  fan- 
cies were  about  us  boarders.  Some  of  them  act 
as  if  they  were  bewitched  with  her,  but  she  does 
not  seem  to  notice  it  much.  Her  thoughts  seem 
to  be  on  her  little  neighbor  more  than  on  any- 
body else.  The  young  fellow  John  appears  to 
stand  second  in  her  good  graces.  I  think  he  has 
once  or  twice  sent  her  what  the  landlady's  daugh- 
ter calls  bo-kays  of  flowers,  —  somebody  has,  at 
any  rate.  —  I  saw  a  book  she  had,  which  must 
have  come  from  the  divinity-student.  It  had  a 
dreary  title-page,  which  she  had  enlivened  with  a 
fancy  portrait  of  the  author,  —  a  face  from  mem- 
ory, apparently,  —  one  of  those  faces  that  small 
children  loathe  without  knowing  why,  and  which 
give  them  that  inward  disgust  for  heaven  so  many 
of  the  little  wretches  betray,  when  they  hear  that 
these  are  "  good  men,"  and  that  heaven  is  full  of 
such.  —  The  gentleman  with  the  diamond — the 
Koh-i-noor,  so  called  by  us  —  was  not  encouraged, 
I  think,  by  the  reception  of  his  packet  of  per- 
fumed soap.  He  pulls  his  purple  moustache  and 
looks    appreciatingly  at    Iris,  who    never   sees    him, 


234       THE   PROFESSOR   AT    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

as  it  should  seem.  The  young  Marylander,  who 
I  thought  would  have  been  in  love  with  her  be- 
fore this  time,  sometimes  looks  from  his  corner 
across  the  long  diagonal  of  the  table,  as  much  as 
to  say,  I  wish  you  were  up  here  by  me,  or  I  were 
down  there  by  you,  —  which  would,  perhaps,  be  a 
more  natural  arrangement  than  the  present  one. 
But  nothing  comes  of  all  this, —  and  nothing  has 
come  of  my  sagacious  idea  of  finding  out  the 
girl's  fancies  by  looking  into  her  locked  drawing- 
book. 

Not  to  give  up  all  the  questions  I  was  deter- 
mined to  solve,  I  made  an  attempt  also  to  work 
into  the  Little  Gentleman's  chamber.  For  this 
purpose,  I  kept  him  in  conversation,  one  morning, 
until  he  was  just  ready  to  go  up-stairs,  and  then, 
as  if  to  continue  the  talk,  followed  him  as  he 
toiled  back  to  his  room.  He  rested  on  the  land- 
ing and  faced  round  toward  me.  There  was 
something  in  his  eye  which  said,  Stop  there !  So 
we  finished  our  conversation  on  the  landing.  The 
next  day,  I  mustered  assurance  enough  to  knock 
at  his  door,  having  a  pretext  ready.  —  No  answer. 
—  Knock  again.  A  door,  as  if  of  a  cabinet,  was 
shut  softly  and  locked,  and  presently  I  heard  the 
peculiar  dead  beat  of  his  thick-soled,  misshapen 
boots.  The  bolts  and  the  lock  of  the  inner 
door  were  unfastened,  —  with  unnecessary  noise, 
I  thought,  —  and   he    came   into  the   passage.     He 


■-. 


THE   PBOFESSOB    AT   THE   BBEAKF AST-TABLE.       235 

pulled  the  inner  door  after  him  and  opened  the 
outer  one  at  which  I  stood.  He  had  on  a 
flowered  silk  dressing-gown,  such  as  "  Mr.  Cop- 
lev  "  used  to  paint  his  old-fashioned  merchant- 
prince?  in;  and  a  quaint-looking  key  in  his  hand. 
Our  conversation  was  short,  but  long  enough  to 
convince  me  that  the  Little  Gentleman  did  not 
want  my  company  in  his  chamber,  and  did  not 
mean  to  have  it. 

I  have  been  making  a  great  fuss  about  what  is 
no  mystery  at  all,  —  a  schoolgirl's  secrets  and  a 
whimsical  man's  habits.  I  mean  to  give  up  such 
nonsense  and  mind  my  own  business.  —  Hark ! 
What  the  deuse  is  that  odd  noise  in  his  cham- 
ber ? 

I  think  I  am   a   little    superstitious.     There 

were  two  things,  when  I  was  a  boy,  that  diabo- 
lized  my  imagination,  —  I  mean,  that  gave  me  a 
distinct  apprehension  of  a  formidable  bodily  shape 
which  prowled  round  the  neighborhood  where  I 
was  born  and  bred.  The  first  was  a  series  of 
marks  called  the  "  Devil's  footsteps."  These  were 
patches  of  sand  in  the  pastures,  where  no  grass 
grew,  where  even  the  low-bush  blackberry,  the 
"dewberry."  a-  our  Southern  neighbors  call  it,  in 
prettier  and  more  Shakspearian  language,  did  not 
spread  its  elinizing  creepers,  —  where  even  the  pale, 
dry.  Badly-sweet  "everlasting"  could  not  grow,  but 
all  was  bare  and  blasted.     The  second  was  a  mark 


236       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

in  one  of  the  public  buildings  near  my  home, — 
the  college  dormitory  named  after  a  Colonial 
Governor.  I  do  not  think  many  persons  are 
aware  of  the  existence  of  this  mark,  —  little  hav- 
ing been  said  about  the  story  in  print,  as  it  was 
considered  very  desirable,  for  the  sake  of  the  Insti- 
tution, to  hush  it  up.  In  the  northwest  corner, 
and  on  the  level  of  the  third  or  fourth  story,  there 
are  signs  of  a  breach  in  the  walls,  mended  pretty 
well,  but  not  to  be  mistaken.  A  considerable 
portion  of  that  corner  must  have  been  carried 
away,  from  within  outward.  It  was  an  unpleas- 
ant affair ;  and  I  do  not  care  to  repeat  the  par- 
ticulars ;  but  some  young  men  had  been  using 
sacred  things  in  a  profane  and  unlawful  way, 
when  the  occurrence,  which  was  variously  ex- 
plained, took  place.  The  story  of  the  Appearance 
in  the  chamber  was,  I  suppose,  invented  after- 
wards ;  but  of  the  injury  to  the  building  there 
could  be  no  question ;  and  the  zig-zag  line,  where 
the  mortar  is  a  little  thicker  than  before,  is  still 
distinctly  visible.  The  queer  burnt  spots,  called 
the  "  Devil's  footsteps,"  had  never  attracted  atten- 
tion before  this  time,  though  there  is  no  evidence 
that  they  had  not  existed  previously,  except  that 
of  the  late  Miss  M.,  a  "  Goody,"  so  called,  or 
sweeper,  who  was  positive  on  the  subject,  but  had 
a  strange  horror  of  referring  to  an  affair  of  which 
she  was  thought  to  know  something.  —  I  tell   you 


THK    PRnFKSSOR   AT   THE    \\ U KAK FAST-TABLE.       237 

it  was  not  so  pleasant  for  a  little  boy  of  impres- 
sible nature  to  go  up  to  bed  in  an  old  gam- 
brel-roofed  house,  with  untenanted,  locked  upper- 
chambers,  and  a  most  ghostly  garret, — with  the 
"  Devil's  footsteps  "  in  the  fields  behind  the  house, 
and  in  front  of  it  the  patched  dormitory  where 
the  unexplained  occurrence  had  taken  place  which 
startled  those  godless  youths  at  their  mock  devo- 
tions, so  that  one  of  them  was  epileptic  from  that 
day  forward,  and  another,  after  a  dreadful  season 
of  mental  conflict,  took  holy  orders  and  became 
renowned  for  his  ascetic  sanctity. 

There  were  other  circumstances  that  kept  up 
the  impression  produced  by  these  two  singular 
facts  I  have  just  mentioned.  There  was  a  dark 
storeroom,  on  looking  through  the  key-hole  of 
which,  I  could  dimly  see  a  heap  of  chairs  and 
tables,  and  other  four-footed  things,  which  seemed 
to  me  to  have  rushed  in  there,  frightened,  and  in 
their  fright  to  have  huddled  together  and  climbed 
up  on  each  other's  backs,  —  as  the  people  did  in 
that  awful  crush  where  so  many  were  killed,  at 
the  execution  of  Holloway  and  Haggerty.  Then 
the  Lady's  portrait,  up-stairs,  with  the  sword- 
thrusts  through  it, —  marks  of  the  British  officers' 
rapiers, —  and  the  tall  mirror  in  which  they  used 
to  look  at  their  red  coats,  —  confound  them  for 
-mashing  its  mate!  —  and  the  deep,  cunningly 
wrought    arm-chair   in  which    Lord    Percy  used   to 


238       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

sit  while  his  hair  was  dressing; — he  was  a  gentle- 
man, and  always  had  it  covered  with  a  large  peig- 
noir, to  save  the  silk  covering  my  grandmother 
embroidered.  Then  the  little  room  down-stairs, 
from  which  went  the  orders  to  throw  up  a  bank 
of  earth  on  the  hill  yonder,  where  you  may  now 
observe  a  granite  obelisk,  — "  the  study,"  in  my 
father's  time,  but  in  those  days  the  council-cham- 
ber of  armed  men,  —  sometimes  filled  with  sol- 
diers; —  come  with  me,  and  I  will  show  you  the 
"dents"  left  by  the  butts  of  their  muskets  all 
over  the  floor.  —  With  all  these  suggestive  ob- 
jects round  me,  aided  by  the  wild  stories  those 
awful  country -boys  that  came  to  live  in  our  ser- 
vice brought  with  them,  —  of  contracts  written  in 
blood  and  left  out  over  night,  not  to  be  found  the 
next  morning,  (removed  by  the  Evil  One,  who 
takes  his  nightly  round  among  our  dwellings,  and 
filed  away  for  future  use,)  —  of  dreams  coming 
true,  —  of  death-signs,  —  of  apparitions,  —  no  won- 
der that  my  imagination  got  excited,  and  I  was 
liable  to  superstitious  fancies. 

Jeremy  Bentham's  logic,  by  which  he  proved 
that  he  couldn't  possibly  see  a  ghost,  is  all  very 
well  —  in  the  day-time.  All  the  reason  in  the 
world  will  never  get  those  impressions  of  child- 
hood, created  by  just  such  circumstances  as  I 
have  been  telling,  out  of  a  man's  head.  That  is 
the   only   excuse    I   have   to   give   for    the   nervous 


TIIK   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       239 

kind  of  curiosity  with  which  I  watch  my  little 
neighbor,  and  the  obstinacy  with  which  I  lie 
awake  whenever  I  hear  anything  going  on  in  his 
chamber  after  midnight. 

But  whatever  further  observations  I  may  have 
made  must  be  deferred  for  the  present.  You  wall 
sec  in  what  way  it  happened  that  my  thoughts 
were  turned  from  spiritual  matters  to  bodily  ones, 
and  how  I  got  my  fancy  full  of  material  images, 
—  faces,  heads,  figures,  muscles,  and  so  forth,  — 
in  such  a  way  that  I  should  have  no  chance  in 
this  number  to  gratify  any  curiosity  you  may  feel, 
if  I  had  the  means  of  so  doing. 

Indeed,  I  have  come  pretty  near  omitting  my 
periodical  record  this  time.  It  was  all  the  work 
of  a  friend  of  mine,  who  would  have  it  that  I 
should  sit  to  him  for  my  portrait.  When  a  soul 
draws  a  body  in  the  great  lottery  of  life,  where 
every  one  is  sure  of  a  prize,  such  as  it  is,  the 
said  soul  inspects  the  said  body  with  the  same 
curious  interest  with  which  one  who  has  ventured 
into  a  "  gift  enterprise "  examines  the  "  massive 
silver  pencil-case"  with  the  coppery  smell  and  im- 
pressible tube,  or  the  M  splendid  gold  ring "  with 
the  questionable  specific  gravity,  which  it  has  been 
his  fortune  to  obtain  in  addition  to  his  purchase. 

The  soul,  having  studied  the  article  of  which 
it  finds  itself  proprietor,  thinks,  after  a  time,  it 
knows  it  pretty  well.     But  there  is    this    difference 


240       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

between  its  view  and  that  of  a  person  looking  at 
us :  —  we  look  from  within,  and  see  nothing  but 
the  mould  formed  by  the  elements  in  which  we 
are  incased;  other  observers  look  from  without, 
and  see  us  as  living  statues.  To  be  sure,  by  the 
aid  of  mirrors,  we  get  a  few  glimpses  of  our  out- 
side aspect ;  but  this  occasional  impression  is  al- 
ways modified  by  that  look  of  the  soul  from  with- 
in outward  which  none  but  ourselves  can  take.  A 
portrait  is  apt,  therefore,  to  be  a  surprise  to  us. 
The  artist  looks  only  from  without.  He  sees  us, 
too,  with  a  hundred  aspects  on  our  faces  we  are 
never  likely  to  see.  No  genuine  expression  can  be 
studied  by  the  subject  of  it  in  the  looking-glass. 

More  than  this  ;  he  sees  us  in  a  way  in  which 
many  of  our  friends  or  acquaintances  never  see  us. 
Without  wearing  any  mask  we  are  conscious  of, 
we  have  a  special  face  for  each  friend.  For,  in 
the  first  place,  each  puts  a  special  reflection  of  him- 
self upon  us,  on  the  principle  of  assimilation  you 
found  referred  to  in  my  last  record,  if  you  hap- 
pened to  read  that  document.  And  secondly,  each 
of  our  friends  is  capable  of  seeing  just  so  far,  and 
no  farther,  into  our  face,  and  each  sees  in  it  the 
particular  thing  that  he  looks  for.  Now  the  artist, 
if  he  is  truly  an  artist,  does  not  take  any  one  of 
these  special  views.  Suppose  he  should  copy  you 
as  you  appear  to  the  man  who  wants  your  name 
to    a   subscription-list,    you    could   hardly   expect  a 


THE   PBOFE8S0B   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       241 

friend  who  entertains  you  to  recognize  the  like- 
a  to  the  smiling  face  which  sheds  its  radiance 
at  his  board.  Even  within  your  own  family,  I 
am  afraid  there  is  a  face  which  the  rich  uncle 
knows,  that  is  not  so  familiar  to  the  poor  relation. 
The  artist  must  take  one  or  the  other,  or  some- 
thing compounded  of  the  two,  or  something  dif- 
ferent from  either.  What  the  daguerreotype  and 
photograph  do  is  to  give  the  features  and  one 
particular  look,  the  very  look  which  kills  all  ex-, 
pression,  that  of  self-consciousness.  The  artist 
>ws  you  off  your  guard,  watches  you  in  move- 
ment and  in  repose,  puts  your  face  through  its 
exercises,  observes  its  transitions,  and  so  gets  the 
whole  range  of  its  expression.  Out  of  all  this  he 
forms  an  ideal  portrait,  which  is  not  a  copy  of 
your  exact  look  at  any  one  time  or  to  any  par- 
ticular person.  Such  a  portrait  cannot  be  to 
everybody  what  the  ungloved  call  "  as  nat'ral  as 
life."'  Every  good  picture,  therefore,  must  be 
considered  wanting  in  resemblance  by  many  per- 
sons. 

There  is  one  strange  revelation  which  comes 
out,  as  the  artist  shapes  your  features  from  his 
outline.  It  is  that  you  resemble  so  many  rela- 
tives to  whom  you  yourself  never  had  noticed  any 
particular  likeness  in  your  countenance. 

He  is  at  work  at  me  now,  when    I   catch    some 
of  these  resemblances,  thus  :  — 
11 


242       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

There !  that  is  just  the  look  my  father  used  to 
have  sometimes ;  I  never  thought  I  had  a  sign  of 
it.  The  mother's  eyebrow  and  grayish-blue  eye, 
those  I  knew  I  had.  But  there  is  a  something 
which  recalls  a  smile  that  faded  away  from  my 
sister's  lips  —  how  many  years  ago !  I  thought  it 
so  pleasant  in  her,  that  I  love  myself  better  for 
having  a  trace  of  it. 

Are  we  not  young  ?  Are  we  not  fresh  and 
blooming?  Wait  a  bit.  The  artist  takes  a  mean 
little  brush  and  draws  three  fine  lines,  diverging 
outwards  from  the  eye  over  the  temple.  Five 
years.  —  The  artist  draws  one  tolerably  distinct 
and  two  faint  lines,  perpendicularly  between  the 
eyebrows.  Ten  years.  —  The  artist  breaks  up  the 
contours  round  the  mouth,  so  that  they  look  a 
little  as  a  hat  does  that  has  been  sat  upon  and 
recovered  itself,  ready,  as  one  would  say,  to  crum- 
ple up  again  in  the  same  creases,  on  smiling  or 
other  change  of  feature.  —  Hold  on  !  Stop  that ! 
Give  a  young  fellow  a  chance !  Are  we  not 
whole  years  short  of  that  interesting  period  of  life 
when  Mr.  Balzac  says  that  a  man,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  ? 

There  now!  That  is  ourself,  as  we  look  after 
finishing  an  article,  getting  a  three-mile  pull  with 
the  ten-foot  sculls,  redressing  the  wrongs  of  the 
toilet,  and  standing  with  the  light  of  hope  in  our 
eye  and  the  reflection  of  a  red  curtain  on  our 
cheek.     Is  he  not  a  Poet  that  painted  us  ? 


THE   FROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       245 

"  Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize ! " 

COWPER. 

Young   folks    look    on   a   face    as    a    unit ; 

children  who  go  to  school  with  any  given  little 
John  Smith  see  in  his  name  a  distinctive  appella- 
tion, and  in  his  features  as  special  and  definite  an 
expression  of  his  sole  individuality  as  if  he  were 
the  first  created  of  his  race.  As  soon  as  we  are 
old  enough  to  get  the  range  of  three  or  four  gen- 
erations well  in  hand,  and  to  take  in  large  family 
histories,  we  never  see  an  individual  in  a  face  of 
any  stock  w^e  know,  but  a  mosaic  copy  of  a  pat- 
tern, with  fragmentary  tints  from  this  and  that 
ancestor.  The  analysis  of  a  face  into  its  ancestral 
elements  requires  that  it  should  be  examined  in 
the  very  earliest  infancy,  before  it  has  lost  that 
ancient  and  solemn  look  it  brings  with  it  out  of 
the  past  eternity ;  and  again  in  that  brief  space 
when  Life,  the  mighty  sculptor,  has  done  his 
work,  and  Death,  his  silent  servant,  lifts  the  veil 
and  lets  us  look  at  the  marble  lines  he  has 
wrought  so  faithfully  ;  and  lastly,  while  a  painter 
who  can  seize  all  the  traits  of  a  countenance  is 
building  it  up,  feature  after  feature,  from  the 
slight  outline  to  the  finished  portrait. 

I  am   satisfied,  that,  as  we    grow  older,  we 

learn  to  look  upon  our  bodies  more  and  more  as 
a  temporary  possession,  and  less  and  less  as  iden- 
tified   with    ourselves.     In    early    years,    while    the 


244       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

child  "  feels  its  life  in  every  limb,"   it   lives   in  the 
body  and  for  the  body  to  a  very  great  extent.     It 
ought  to  be  so.     There   have   been   many  very  in- 
teresting   children  who    have    shown    a    wonderful 
indifference  to  the  things  of  earth  and  an  extraor- 
dinary development  of  the  spiritual  nature.     There 
is  a  perfect  literature  of  their  biographies,  all  alike 
in  their  essentials ;  the  same  "  disinclination  to  the 
usual    amusements    of   childhood " ;    the    same    re- 
markable sensibility ;   the  same  docility ;   the    same 
conscientiousness ;    in     short,    an    almost    uniform 
character,    marked    by    beautiful    traits,   which    we 
look    at    with    a    painful    admiration.      It   will    be 
found  that  most  of  these  children  are  the  subjects 
of    some    constitutional    unfitness    for    living,    the 
most    frequent     of    which     I     need     not    mention. 
They   are   like   the    beautiful,   blushing,   half-grown 
fruit  that  falls   before  its  time   because   its   core  is 
gnawed  out.     They  have  their  meaning,  —  they  do 
not   live   in  vain,  —  but   they  are  windfalls.     I   am 
convinced   that   many  healthy  children    are    injured 
morally  by  being  forced   to   read   too   much   about 
these  little  meek  sufferers  and  their   spiritual   exer- 
cises.    Here    is    a    boy   that    loves    to    run,    swim, 
kick   football,    turn    somersets,    make  faces,  whittle, 
fish,    tear    his    clothes,    coast,    skate,    fire    crackers, 
blow-    squash    "tooters,"    cut    his    name    on  fences, 
read  about  Robinson  Crusoe  *and  Sinbad  the  Sail- 
or, eat  the  widest-angled  slices  of   pie    and   untold 


THE    PBOFESSOB   AT  THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       245 

cakes  and  candies,  craek  nuts  with  his  back  teeth 
and  bite  out  the  better  part  of  another  boy's 
apple  with  his  front  ones,  turn  up  coppers,  "  stick  " 
knives,  call  names,  throw  stones,  knock  off  hats, 
set  mousetraps,  chalk  doorsteps,  "  cut  behind " 
anything  on  wheels  or  runners,  whistle  through 
his  Teeth,  "  holler "  Fire !  on  slight  evidence,  run 
after  soldiers,  patronize  an  engine-company,  or,  in 
his  own  words,  "  blow  for  tub  No.  11,"  or  what- 
ever it  may  be ;  —  isn't  that  a  pretty  nice  sort  of 
a  boy,  though  he  has  not  got  anything  the  matter 
with  him  that  takes  the  taste  of  this  world  out  ? 
Now,  when  you  put  into  such  a  hot-blooded, 
hard-fisted,  round-cheeked  little  rogue's  hand  a 
sad-looking  volume  or  pamphlet,  with  the  portrait 
of  a  thin,  white-faced  child,  whose  life  is  really  as 
much  a  training  for  death  as  the  last  month  of  a 
condemned  criminal's  existence,  what  does  he  find 
in  common  between  his  own  overflowing  and 
exulting  sense  of  vitality  and  the  experiences  of 
the  doomed  offspring  of  invalid  parents  ?  The 
time  comes  when  we  have  learned  to  understand 
the  music  of  sorrow,  the  beauty  of  resigned  suf- 
fering, the  holy  light  that  plays  over  the  pillow 
of  those  who  die  before  their  time,  in  humble 
hope  and  trust.  But  it  is  not  until  he  has  worked 
his  way  through  the  period  of  honest  hearty  ani- 
mal existence,  which  every  robust  child  should 
make   the    most  of, —  not    until  he  has  learned  the 


246       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

use  of  his  various  faculties,  which  is  his  first  duty 
—  that  a  boy  of  courage  and  animal  vigor  is  in  a 
proper  state  to  read  these  tearful  records  of  pre- 
mature decay.  I  have  no  doubt  that  disgust  is 
implanted  in  the  minds  of  many  healthy  children 
by  early  surfeits  of  pathological  piety.  I  do  verily 
believe  that  He  who  took  children  in  His  arms 
and  blessed  them  loved  the  healthiest  and  most 
playful  of  them  just  as  well  as  those  who  were 
richest  in  the  tuberculous  virtues.  I  know  what 
I  am  talking  about,  and  there  are  more  parents  in 
this  country  who  will  be  willing  to  listen  to  what 
I  say  than  there  are  fools  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
me.  In  the  sensibility  and  the  sanctity  which 
often  accompany  premature  decay  I  see  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  instances  of  the  principle  of 
compensation  which  marks  the  Divine  benevo- 
lence. But  to  get  the  spiritual  hygiene  of  robust 
natures  out  of  the  exceptional  regimen  of  invalids 
is  just  simply  what  we  Professors  call  "bad  prac- 
tice " ;  and  I  know  by  experience  that  there*  are 
worthy  people  who  not  only  try  it  on  their  own 
children,  but  actually  force  it  on  those  of  their 
neighbors. 

Having  been  photographed,  and  stereo- 
graphed,  and  chromatographed,  or  done  in  colors, 
in  only  remained  to  be  phrenologized.  A  polite 
note  from  Messrs.  Bumpus  and  Crane,  requesting 
our   attendance   at   their    Physiological    Emporium, 


THE    FROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       247 

was  too  tempting  to  be  resisted.     We  repaired   to 
that  scientific  Golgotha. 

.Messrs.  Bumpus  and  Crane  are  arranged  on  the 
plan  of  the  man  and  the  woman  in  the  toy  called 
a  "  weather-house,"  both  on  the  same  wooden  arm 
suspended  on  a  pivot,  —  so  that  when  one  comes 
to  the  door,  the  other  retires  backwards,  and  vice 
versa.  The  more  particular  speciality  of  one  is  to 
lubricate  your  entrance  and  exit,  —  that  of  the 
other  to  polish  you  off  phrenologically  in  the  re- 
cesses of  the  establishment.  Suppose  yourself  in 
a  room  full  of  casts  and  pictures,  before  a  counter- 
full  of  books  with  taking  titles.  I  wonder  if  the 
picture  of  the  brain  is  there,  "  approved "  by  a 
noted  Phrenologist,  which  was  copied  from  my, 
the  Professor's,  folio  plate  in  the  work  of  Gall 
and  Spurzheim.  An  extra  convolution,  No.  9,  De- 
structiveness,  according  to  the  list  beneath,  which 
was  not  to  be  seen  in  the  plate,  itself  a  copy  of 
Nature,  was  very  liberally  supplied  by  the  artist, 
to  meet  the  wants  of  the  catalogue  of  "  organs." 
Professor  Bumpus  is  seated  in  front  of  a  row  of 
women,  —  horn-combers  and  gold-beaders,  or  some- 
where about  that  range  of  life,  —  looking  so  credu- 
lous, that,  if  any  Second- Advent  Miller  or  Joe 
Smith  should  come  along,  he  could  string  the 
whole  lot  of  them  on  his  cheapest  lie,  as  a  boy 
strings  a  dozen  "  shiners "  on  a  stripped  twig  of 
willow. 


248       THE   PKOFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

The  Professor  (meaning  ourselves)  is  in  a  hurry, 
as  usual;  let  the  horn-combers  wait, —  he  shall  be 
bumped  without  inspecting  the  antechamber. 

Tape  round  the  head, —  22  inches.  (Come  on, 
old  23  inches,  if  you  think  you  are  the  better 
man! ) 

Feels  thorax  and  arm,  and  nuzzles  round  among 
muscles  as  those  horrid  old  women  poke  their 
fingers  into  the  salt-meat  on  the  provision -stalls 
at  the  Quincy  Market.  Vitality,  No.  5  or  6,  or 
something  or  other.  Victuality,  (organ  at  epigas- 
trium,)  some  other  number  equally  significant. 

Mild  champooing  of  head  now  commences.  Ex- 
traordinary revelations  !  Cupidiphilous,  6  !  Hyme- 
niphilous,  6-\-\  PaBdiphilous,  5!  Deipniphilous,  6! 
Gelasmiphilous,  6 !  Musikiphilous,  5 !  Uraniphi- 
lous,  5 !  Glossiphilous,  8 ! !  and  so  on.  Meant  for 
a  linguist.  —  Invaluable  information.  Will  invest 
in  grammars  and  dictionaries  immediately.  —  I 
have  nothing  against  the  grand  total  of  my 
phrenological    endowments. 

I  never  set  great  store  by  my  head,  and  did  not 
think  Messrs.  Bumpus  and  Crane  would  give  me 
so  good  a  lot  of  organs  as  they  did,  especially 
considering  that  I  was  a  dead-head  on  that  occa- 
sion. Much  obliged  to  them  for  their  politeness. 
They  have  been  useful  in  their  way  by  calling  at- 
tention to  important  physiological  facts.  (This  con- 
cession is  due  to  our  immense  bump  of  Candor.) 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       249 

A  short  Lecture  on  Phrenology,  read  to  the  Board- 
ers at  our  Breakfast- Table. 

I  shall  begin,  my  friends,  with  the  definition  of 
a  Pseudo-science.  A  Pseudo-science  consists  of 
a  nomenclature,  with  a  self-adjusting  arrangement, 
by  which  all  positive  evidence,  or  such  as  favors 
its  doctrines,  is  admitted,  and  all  negative  evi- 
dence, or  such  as  tells  against  it,  is  excluded.  It 
is  invariably  connected  with  some  lucrative  practi- 
cal application.  Its  professors  and  practitioners 
are  usually  shrewd  people ;  they  are  very  serious 
with  the  public,  but  wink  and  laugh  a  good  deal 
among  themselves.  The  believing  multitude  con- 
sists of  women  of  both  sexes,  feeble-minded  in- 
quirers, poetical  optimists,  people  who  always  get 
cheated  in  buying  horses,  philanthropists  who  in- 
sist on  hurrying  up  the  millennium,  and  others  of 
this  class,  with  here  and  there  a  clergyman,  less 
frequently  a  lawyer,  very  rarely  a  physician,  and 
almost  never  a  horse-jockey  or  a  member  of  the 
detective  police.  —  I  did  not  say  that  Phrenology 
was  one  of  the  Pseudo-sciences. 

A  Pseudo-science  does  not  necessarily  consist 
wholly  of  lies.  It  may  contain  many  truths,  and 
even  valuable  ones.  The  rottenest  bank  starts 
with  a  little  specie.  It  puts  out  a  thousand  prom- 
ises to  pay  on   the  strength  of  a  single  dollar,  but 

the   dollar   is    very    commonly    a   good   one.      The 
11* 


250       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

practitioners  of  the  Pseudo-sciences  know  that 
common  minds,  after  they  have  been  baited  with 
a  real  fact  or  two,  will  jump  at  the  merest  rag 
of  a  lie,  or  even  at  the  bare  hook.  When  we 
have  one  fact  found  us,  we  are  very  apt  to  supply 
the  next  out  of  our  own  imagination.  (How 
many  persons  can  read  Judges  xv.  16  correctly 
the  first  time  ?)  The  Pseudo-sciences  take  advan- 
tage of  this.  —  I  did  not  say  that  it  was  so  with 
Phrenology. 

I  have  rarely  met  a  sensible  man  who  would 
not  allow  that  there  was  something  in  Phrenology. 
A  broad,  high  forehead,  it  is  commonly  agreed, 
promises  intellect ;  one  that  is  "  villanous  low " 
and  has  a  huge  hind-head  back  of  it,  is  wont  to 
mark  an  animal  nature.  I  have  as  rarely  met  an 
unbiassed  and  sensible  man  who  really  believed  in 
the  bumps.  It  is  observed,  however,  that  persons 
with  what  the  Phrenologists  call  "  good  heads " 
are  more  prone  than  others  toward  plenary  belief 
in  the  doctrine. 

It  is  so  hard  to  prove  a  negative,  that,  if  a 
man  should  assert  that  the  moon  was  in  truth  a 
green  cheese,  formed  by  the  coagulable  substance 
of  the  Milky  Way,  and  challenge  me  to  prove  the 
contrary,  I  might  be  puzzled.  But  if  he  offer  to 
sell  me  a  ton  of  this  lunar  cheese,  I  call  on  him 
to  prove  the  truth  of  the  caseous  nature  of  our 
satellite,  before  I  purchase. 


THK   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      251 

It  is  not  necessary  to  prove  the  falsity  of  the 
phrenological  statement.  It  is  only  necessary  to 
show  that  its  truth  is  not  proved,  and  cannot  be, 
by  the  common  course  of  argument.  The  walls 
of  the  head  are  double,  with  a  great  air-chamber 
between  them,  over  the  smallest  and  most  closely 
crowded  "  organs."  Can  you  tell  how  much 
money  there  is  in  a  safe,  which  also  has  thick 
double  walls,  by  kneading  its  knobs  with  your 
fingers?  So  when  a  man  fumbles  about  my  fore- 
head, and  talks  about  the  organs  of  Individual- 
ity, Size,  etc.,  I  trust  him  as  much  as  I  should 
if  he  felt  of  the  outside  of  my  strong-box  and 
told  me  that  there  was  a  five-dollar  or  a  ten- 
dollar-bill  under  this  or  that  particular  rivet.  Per- 
haps there  is;  only  he  doesnH  know  anything'  about 
it.  But  this  is  a  point  that  I,  the  Professor, 
understand,  my  friends,  or  ought  to,  certainly,  bet- 
ter than  you  do.  The  next  argument  you  will  all 
appreciate. 

I  proceed,  therefore,  to  explain  the  self-adjusting 
mechanism  of  Phrenology,  which  is  very  similar 
to  that  of  the  Pseudo-sciences.  An  example  will 
show  it  most  conveniently. 

A.  is  a  notorious  thief.  Messrs.  Bumpus  and 
Crane  examine  him  and  find  a  good-sized  organ 
of  Acquisitiveness.  Positive  fact  for  Phrenology. 
(_";i-ts  and  drawings  of  A.  are  multiplied,  and  llie 
bump  does  not  lose  in  the  act  of  copying.  —  I  did 


252       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

not  say  it  gained.  —  What  do  you  look  so  for  ? 
(to  the  boarders.) 

Presently  B.  turns  up,  a  bigger  thief  than  A. 
But  B.  has  no  bump  at  all  over  Acquisitiveness. 
Negative  fact;  goes  against  Phrenology.  —  Not  a 
bit  of  it.  Don't  you  see  how  small  Conscientious- 
ness is  ?      That's  the  reason  B.  stole. 

And  then  comes  C,  ten  times  as  much  a  thief 
as  either  A.  or  B., —  used  to  steal  before  he  was 
weaned,  and  would  pick  one  of  his  own  pockets 
and  put  its  contents  in  another,  if  he  could  find 
no  other  way  of  committing  petty  larceny.  Un- 
fortunately, C.  has  a  hollow,  instead  of  a  bump, 
over  Acquisitiveness.  Ah,  but  just  look  and  see 
what  a  bump  of  Alimentiveness !  Did  not  C.  buy 
nuts  and  gingerbread,  when  a  boy,  with  the  money 
he  stole  ?  Of  course  you  see  why  he  is  a  thief, 
and  how  his  example  confirms  our  noble  science. 

At  last  comes  along  a  case  which  is  apparently 
a  settler,  for  there  is  a  little  brain  with  vast  and 
varied  powers,  —  a  case  like  that  of  Byron,  for  in- 
stance. Then  comes  out  the  grand  reserve-reason 
which  covers  everything  and  renders  it  simply  im- 
possible ever  to  corner  a  Phrenologist.  "  It  is  not 
the  size  alone,  but  the  quality  of  an  organ,  which 
determines  its  degree  of  power." 

Oh !  oh !  I  see.  —  The  argument  may  be  briefly 
stated  thus  by  the  Phrenologist:  "Heads  I  win, 
tails  you  lose."     Well,  that's  convenient. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       253 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Phrenology  has  a  cer- 
tain resemblance  to  the  Pseudo-sciences.  I  did 
not  say  it  was  a  Pseudo-science. 

I  have  often  met  persons  who  have  been  alto- 
gether struck  up  and  amazed  at  the  accuracy  with 
which  some  wandering  Professor  of  Phrenology 
had  read  their  characters  written  upon  their  skulls. 
Of  course  the  Professor  acquires  his  information 
solely  through  his  cranial  inspections  and  manip- 
ulations.—  What  are  you  laughing  at?  (to  the 
boarders). —  But  let  us  just  suppose,  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  a  tolerably  cunning  fellow,  who  did 
not  know  or  care  anything  about  Phrenology, 
should  open  a  shop  and  undertake  to  read  off 
people's  characters  at  fifty  cents  or  a  dollar  apiece. 
Let  us  see  how  well  he  could  get  along  without 
the  "  organs." 

I  will  suppose  myself  to  set  up  such  a  shop.  I 
would  invest  one  hundred  dollars,  more  or  less,  in 
casts  of  brains,  skulls,  charts,  and  other  matters 
that  would  make  the  most  show  for  the  money. 
That  would  do  to  begin  with.  I  would  then  ad- 
vertise myself  as  the  celebrated  Professor  Brainey, 
or  whatever  name  I  might  choose,  and  wait  for 
my  first  customer.  My  first  customer  is  a  middle- 
aged  man.  I  look  at  him,  —  ask  him  a  question 
or  two,  so  as  to  hear  him  talk.  When  I  have 
got  the  hang  of  him,  I  ask  him  to  sit  down, 
and  proceed  to  fumble  his  skull,  dictating  as  fol- 
lows :  — 


254       THE  PKOFESSOR  AT  THE  BEEAKF AST-TABLE. 


SCALE  FROM   1   TO   10. 


List  of  Faculties  for  Customer.     Private  Notes  for  my  Pupil: 

Each  to  be  accompanied  with  a  wink. 

Most  men  love  the  conflicting 
sex,  and  all  men  love  to  be  told 
they  do. 

Don't  you  see  that  he  has 
burst  off  his  lowest  waistcoat- 
button  with  feeding,  —  hey? 

Of  course.  A  middle-aged 
Yankee. 

Hat  well  brushed.  Hair  ditto. 
Mark  the  effect  of  that  plus 
sign. 

His  face  shows  that. 

That'll  please  him. 

That  fraction  looks  first-rate. 

Has    laughed   twice   since   he 


Amativeness,  7. 

Alimentiveness,  8. 

Acquisitiveness ,  8. 
Approbativeness,  7.+ 


Self-esteem,  6. 
Benevolence,  9. 
Conscientiousness,  8j. 
Mirthfulness,  7. 


came  in. 

That  sounds  well. 


Ideality,  9. 

Form,  Size,  Weight,  Color, 
Locality,  Eventuality,  etc. 
etc., 

And  so  of  the  other  faculties. 


4  to    6.    Average   everything 
that  can't  be  guessed. 


Of  course,  you  know,  that  isn't  the  way  the 
Phrenologists  do.  They  go  only  by  the  bumps.  — 
What  do  you  keep  laughing  so  for?  (to  the  board- 
ers.) I  only  said  that  is  the  way  i"  should  practise 
"  Phrenology  "  for  a  living. 

End  of  my  Lecture. 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       255 


The  Reformers  have  good   heads,  generally. 


Their  faces  are  commonly  serene  enough,  and  they 
are  lambs  in  private  intercourse,  even  though  their 
voices  may  be  like 

The  wolf's  long  howl  from  Oonalaska's  shore, 

when  heard  from  the  platform.  Their  greatest 
spiritual  danger  is  from  the  perpetual  flattery  of 
abuse  to  which  they  are  exposed.  These  lines  are 
meant  to  caution  them. 


SAINT  ANTHONY  THE  REFORMER. 

HIS    TEMPTATION. 

No  fear  lest  praise  should  make  us  proud ! 

We  know  how  cheaply  that  is  won  ; 
The  idle  homage  of  the  crowd 

Is  proof  of  tasks  as  idly  done. 

A  surface-smile  may  pay  the  toil 

That  follows  still  the  conquering  Right, 

With  soft,  white  hands  to  dress  the  spoil 
That  sunbrowned  valor  clutched  in  fight. 

Sing  the  sweet  song  of  other  days, 

Serenely  placid,  safely  true,  • 

And  o'er  the  present's  parching  ways 
Thy  verse  distils  like  evening  dew. 

But  speak  in  words  of  living  power,  — 
Tlicy  fall  like  drops  of  scalding  rain 


256      THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

That  plashed  before  the  burning  shower 
Swept  o'er  the  cities  of  the  plain  ! 

Then  scowling  Hate  turns  deadly  pale, — 
Then  Passion's  half-coiled  adders  spring, 

And,  smitten  through  their  leprous  mail, 
Strike  right  and  left  in  hope  to  sting. 

If  thou,  unmoved  by  poisoning  wrath, 
Thy  feet  on  earth,  thy  heart  above, 

Canst  walk  in  peace  thy  kingly  path, 
Unchanged  in  trust,  unchilled  in  love, — 

Too  kind  for  bitter  words  to  grieve, 
Too  firm  for  clamor  to  dismay, 

"When  Faith  forbids  thee  to  believe, 
And  Meekness  calls  to  disobey, — 

Ah,  then  beware  of  mortal  pride  ! 

The  smiling  pride  that  calmly  scorns 
Those  foolish  fingers,  crimson  dyed 

In  laboring  on  thy  crown  of  thorns  ! 


IX. 


One  of  our  boarders  —  perhaps  more  than  one 
was  concerned  in  it — sent  in  some  questions  to 
me,  the  other  day,  which,  trivial  as  some  of  them 
are,  I  felt  bound  to  answer. 

1.  —  Whether  a  lady  was  ever  known  to  write 
a  letter  covering  only  a  single  page  ? 


Till-:   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      257 

To  this  I  answered,  that  there  was  a  case  on 
record  where  a  lady  had  but  half  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  no  envelope ;  and  being  obliged  to  send 
through  the  post-office,  she  covered  only  one  side 
of  the  paper  (crosswise,  lengthwise,  and  diago- 
"ally). 

2. —  What  constitutes  a  man  a  gentleman? 

To  this  I  gave  several  answers,  adapted  to  par- 
ticular classes  of  questioners. 

a.  Not  trying  to  be  a  gentleman. 

b.  Self-respect  underlying  courtesy. 

c.  Knowledge  and  observance  of  the  fitness  of 
things  in  social  intercourse. 

d.  £.  s.  d.  (as  many  suppose.) 

•   3. —  Whether   face    or   figure   is    most   attractive 
in  the  female  sex  ? 

Answered  in  the  following  epigram,  by  a  young 
man  about  town  :  — 

Quoth  Tom,  "  Though  fair  her  features  be, 
It  is  her  figure  pleases  me." 
••  What  may  he r  figure  be  V  "  I  cried. 
"  One  hundred  thousand ! "  he  replied. 

When  this  was  read  to  the  boarders,  the  young 
man  John  said  he  should  like  a  chance  to  "step 
up"  to  a  figger  of  that  kind,  if  the  girl  was  one 
of  the  right  sort. 

The  landlady  said  them  that  merried  for  money 
didn't  deserve  the  blessin'  of  a  good  wife.     Money 


258       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

was  a  great  thing  when  them  that  had  it  made  a 
good  use  of  it.  She  had  seen  better  days  herself, 
and  knew  what  it  was  never  to  want  for  any- 
thing. One  of  her  cousins  merried  a  very  rich  old 
gentleman,  and  she  had  heerd  that  he  said  he 
lived  ten  year  longer  than  if  he'd  staid  by  him- 
self without  anybody  to  take  care  of  him.  There 
was  nothin'  like  a  wife  for  nussin'  sick  folks  and 
them  that  couldn't  take  care  of  themselves. 

The  young  man  John  got  off  a  little  wink,  and 
pointed  slyly  with  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of 
our  diminutive  friend,  for  whom  he  seemed  to 
think  this  speech  was  intended. 

If  it  was  meant  for  him,  he  didn't  appear  to 
know  that  it  was.  Indeed,  he  seems  somewhat 
listless  of  late,  except  when  the  conversation  falls 
upon  one  of  those  larger  topics  that  specially  in- 
terest him,  and  then  he  grows  excited,  speaks  loud 
and  fast,  sometimes  almost  savagely,  —  and,  I  have 
noticed  once  or  twice,  presses  his  left  hand  to  his 
right  side,  as  if  there  were  something  that  ached, 
or  weighed,  or  throbbed  in  that  region. 

While  he  speaks  in  this  way,  the  general  con- 
versation is  interrupted,  and  we  all  listen  to  him. 
Iris  looks  steadily  in  his  face,  and  then  he  will 
turn  as  if  magnetized  and  meet  the  amber  eyes 
with  his  own  melancholy  gaze.  I  do  believe  that 
they  have  some  kind  of  understanding  together, 
that   they  meet   elsewhere   than    at   our   table,  and 


tiii:  professor  at  the  breakfast-table.     259 

that  there  is  a  mystery,  which  is  going  to  break 
upon  us  all  of  a  sadden,  involving  the  relations 
of  these  two  persons.  From  the  very  first,  they 
have  taken  to  each  other.  The  one  thing  they 
have  in  common  is  the  heroic  will.  In  him,  it 
shows  itself  in  thinking  his  way  straightforward, 
in  doing  battle  for  "  free  trade  and  no  right  of 
search "  on  the  high  seas  of  religious  controversy, 
and  especially  in  fighting  the  battles  of  his  crook- 
ed old  city.  In  her,  it  is  standing  up  for  her  little 
Mend  with  the  most  queenly  disregard  of  the  code 
of  boarding-house  etiquette.  People  may  say  or 
look  what  they  like,  —  she  will  have  her  way 
about  this  sentiment  of  hers. 

The  Poor  Relation  is  in  a  dreadful  fidget  when- 
ever the  Little  Gentleman  says  anything  that  in- 
terferes with  her  own  infallibility.  She  seems  to 
think  Faith  must  go  with  her  face  tied  up,  as  if 
she  had  the  toothache,  —  and  that  if  she  opens 
her  mouth  to  the  quarter  the  wind  blows  from, 
she  will  catch  her  "  death  o'  cold." 

The  landlady  herself  came  to  him  one  day,  as 
I  have  found  out,  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
hold  his  tongue.  —  The  boarders  was  gettin'  un- 
easy, —  she  said,  —  and  some  of  'em  would  go, 
she  mistrusted,  if  he  talked  any  more  about  things 
that  belonged  to  the  ministers  to  settle.  She  was 
a  poor  woman,  that  had  known  better  days,  but 
all    her   livin'    depended    on    her    boarders,  and   she 


260      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

was  sure  there  wasn't  any  of  'em  she  set  so  much 
by  as  she  did  by  him  ;  but  there  was  them  that 
never  liked  to  hear  about  sech  things,  except  on 
Sundays. 

The  Little  Gentleman  looked  very  smiling  at 
the  landlady,  who  smiled  even  more  cordially  in 
return,  and  adjusted  her  cap-ribbon  with  an  un- 
conscious movement,  —  a  reminiscence  of  the  long- 
past  pairing-time,  when  she  had  smoothed  her 
locks  and  softened  her  voice,  and  won  her  mate 
by  these  and  other  bird-like  graces.  —  My  dear 
Madam,  —  he  said,  —  I  will  remember  your  in- 
terests, and  speak  only  of  matters  to  which  I  am 
totally  indifferent.  —  I  don't  doubt  he  meant  this ; 
but  a  day  or  two  after,  something  stirred  him 
up,  and  I  heard  his  voice  uttering  itself  aloud, 
thus: — 

It  must   be  done,  Sir  !  —  he  was   saying,  — 

it  must  be  done!  Our  religion  has  been  Judaized, 
it  has  been  Romanized,  it  has  been  Orientalized, 
it  has  been  Anglicized,  and  the  time  is  at  hand 
when  it  must  be  Americanized  !  Now,  Sir,  you 
see  what  Americanizing  is  in  politics;  —  it  means 
that  a  man  shall  have  a  vote  because  he  is  a 
man,  —  and  shall  vote  for  whom  he  pleases,  with- 
out his  neighbor's  interference.  If  he  chooses  to 
vote  for  the  Devil,  that  is  his  lookout ;  —  perhaps 
he  thinks  the  Devil  is  better  than  the  other  candi- 
dates;   and    I    don't   doubt    he's    often    right,    Sir! 


THE   PROFESSOB  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       2G1 

Just  so  a  man's  soul  has  a  vote  in  the  spiritual 
community;  and  it  doesn't  do,  Sir,  or  it  won't  do 
long,  to  call  him  "schismatic"  and  "heretic"  and 
those  other  wicked  names  that  the  old  murderous 
Inquisitors  have  left  us  to  help  along  "  peace  and 
good- will  to  men  "  ! 

As  long  as  you  could  catch  a  man  and  drop 
him  into  an  oubliette,  or  pull  him  out  a  few 
inches  longer  by  machinery,  or  put  a  hot  iron 
through  his  tongue,  or  make  him  climb  up  a  lad- 
der and  sit  on  a  board  at  the  top  of  a  stake  so 
that  he  should  be  slowly  broiled  by  the  fire 
kindled  round  it,  there  was  some  sense  in  these 
words ;  they  led  to  something.  But  since  we  have 
done  with  those  tools,  we  had  better  give  up 
those  words.  I  should  like  to  see  a  Yankee  ad- 
vertisement like  this !  —  (the  Little  Gentleman 
laughed  fiercely  as  he  uttered  the  words, — ) 

Patent  thumb-screws,  —  will  crush  the  bone 

in  three  turns. 

The  cast-iron  boot,  with  wedge  and  mallet, 

—  only  five  dollars  ! 

The  celebrated  extension-rack,  warranted  to 

stretch  a  man  six  inches  in  twenty  minutes, — 
money  returned,  if  it  proves  unsatisfactory. 

I  should  like  to  see  such  an  advertisement,  I 
say,  Sir!  Now,  what's  the  use  of  using  the  words 
that  belonged  with  the  thumb-screws,  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin    with    the    knives    under    her    petti- 


262   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

coats  and  sleeves  and  bodice,  and  the  dry  pan  and 
gradual  fire,  if  we  can't  have  the  things  them- 
selves, Sir?  What's  the  use  of  painting-  the  fire 
round  a  poor  fellow,  when  you  think  it  won't  do 
to  kindle  one  under  him,  —  as  they  did  at  Valen- 
cia or  Valladolid,  or  wherever  it  was? 

What  story  is  that  ?  —  I  said. 

Why,  —  he  answered,  —  at  the  last  auto-da-fe,  in 
1824  or  '5,  or  somewhere  there,  —  it's  a  travel- 
ler's story,  but  a  mighty  knowing  traveller  he  is, 
—  they  had  a  "  heretic "  to  use  up  according  to 
the  statutes  provided  for  the  crime  of  private 
opinion.  They  couldn't  quite  make  up  their 
minds  to  burn  him,  so  they  only  hung  him  in  a 
hogshead  painted  all  over  with  flames! 

No,  Sir !  when  a  man  calls  you  names  because 
you  go  to  the  ballot-box  and  vote  for  your  candi- 
date, or  because  you  say  this  or  that  is  your 
opinion,  he  forgets  in  which  half  of  the  world  he 
was  born,  Sir!  It  won't  be  long,  Sir,  before  we 
have  Americanized  religion  as  we  have  American- 
ized government ;  and  then,  Sir,  every  soul  God 
sends  into  the  world  will  be  good  in  the  face  of 
all  men  for  just  so  much  of  His  "inspiration"  as 
"  giveth  him  understanding  " !  —  None  of  my  words, 
Sir!  none  of  my  words! 

If  Iris  does  not  love  this  Little  Gentleman, 

what  does  love  look  like  when  one  sees  it  ?  She 
follows  him  with  her  eyes,  she   leans   over  toward 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       263 

him  when  he  speaks,  her  face  changes  with  the 
changes  of  his  speech,  so  that  one  might  think  it 
was  with  her  as  with  Christabel, — 

That  all  her  features  were  resigned 
To  this  sole  image  in  her  mind. 

But  she  never  looks  at  him  with  such  intensity 
of  devotion  as  when  he  says  anything  about  the 
soul  and  the  soul's  atmosphere,  religion. 

Women  are  twice  as  religious  as  men ;  —  all 
the  world  knows  that.  Whether  they  are  any 
better,  in  the  eyes  of  Absolute  Justice,  might  be 
questioned ;  for  the  additional  religious  element 
supplied  by  sex  hardly  seems  to  be  a  matter  of 
praise  or  blame.  But  in  all  common  aspects  they 
are  so  much  above  us  that  we  get  most  of  our 
religion  from  them,  —  from  their  teachings,  from 
their  example,  —  above  all,  from  their  pure  affec- 
tions. 

Now  this  poor  little  Iris  had  been  talked  to 
strangely  in  her  childhood.  Especially  she  had 
been  told  that  she  hated  all  good  things,  —  which 
every  sensible  parent  knows  well  enough  is  not 
true  of  a  great  many  children,  to  say  the  least.  I 
have  sometimes  questioned  whether  many  libels 
on  human  nature  had  not  been  a  natural  con- 
sequence of  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy,  which  was 
enforced  for  so  long  a  period. 

The  child  had  met  this  and  some  other    equally 


264   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

encouraging  statements  as  to  her  spiritual  condi- 
tions, early  in  life,  and  fought  the  battle  of  spirit- 
ual independence  prematurely,  as  many  children 
do.  If  all  she  did  was  hateful  to  God,  what 
was  the  meaning  of  the  approving  or  else  the 
disapproving  conscience,  when  she  had  done 
"  right  "  or  "  wrong  "  ?  No  "  shoulder-striker  "  hits 
out  straighter  than  a  child  with  its  logic.  Why, 
I  can  remember  lying  in  my  bed  in  the  nursery 
and  settling  questions  which  all  that  I  have  heard 
since  and  got  out  of  books  has  never  been  able 
to  raise  again.  If  a  child  does  not  assert  itself  in 
this  way  in  good  season,  it  becomes  just  what  its 
parents  or  teachers  were,  and  is  no  better  than  a 
plaster  image.  —  How  old  was  I  at  the  time  ?  — 
I  suppose  about  5823  years  old,  —  that  is,  count- 
ing from  Archbishop  Usher's  date  of  the  Creation, 
and  adding  the  life  of  the  race,  whose  accumu- 
lated intelligence  is  a  part  of  my  inheritance,  to 
my  own.  A  good  deal  older  than  Plato,  you  see, 
and  much  more  experienced  than  my  Lord  Bacon 
and  most  of  the  world's  teachers.  —  Old  books,  as 
you  well  know,  are  books  of  the  world's  youth, 
and  new  books  are  fruits  of  its  age.  How  many 
of  all  these  ancient  folios  round  me  are  like  so 
many  old  cupels!  The  gold  has  passed  out  of 
them  long  ago,  but  their  pores  are  full  of  the 
dross  with  which  it  was  mingled. 

And  so  Iris  —  having  thrown  off  that  first  lasso, 


THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       2G5 

which  not  only  fetters,  but  chokes  those  whom  it 
can  hold,  so  that  they  give  themselves  up  trem- 
bling and  breathless  to  the  great  soul-subduer,  who 
has  them  by  the  windpipe  —  had  settled  a  brief 
creed  for  herself,  in  which  love  of  the  neighbor, 
whom  we  have  seen,  was  the  first  article,  and 
love  of  the  Creator,  whom  we  have  not  seen, 
grew  out  of  this  as  its  natural  development,  being 
necessarily  second  in  order  of  time  to  the  first  un- 
selfish emotions  which  we  feel  for  the  fellow-crea- 
tures who  surround  us  in  our  early  years. 

The  child  must  have  some  place  of  worship. 
What  would  a  young  girl  be  who  never  mingled 
her  voice  with  the  songs  and  prayers  that  rose  all 
around  her  with  every  returning  day  of  rest?  And 
Iris  was  free  to  choose.  Sometimes  one  and 
sometimes  another  would  offer  to  carry  her  to  this 
or  that  place  of  worship ;  and  when  the  doors 
were  hospitably  opened,  she  would  often  go  meek- 
ly in  by  herself.  It  was  a  curious  fact,  that  two 
churches  as  remote  from  each  other  in  doctrine  as 
could  well  be  divided  her  affections. 

The  Church  of  Saint  Polycarp  had  very  much 
the  look  of  a  Roman  Catholic  chapel.  I  do  not 
wish  to  run  the  risk  of  giving  names  to  the  eccle- 
siastical furniture  which  gave  it  such  a  Romish 
aspect ;  but  there  were  pictures,  and  inscriptions 
in  antiquated  characters,  and  there  were  reading- 
stands,  and  flowers  on  the  altar,  and  other  elegant 
12 


266       THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

arrangements.  Then  there  were  boys  to  sing  al- 
ternately in  choirs  responsive  to  each  other,  and 
there  was  much  bowing,  with  very  loud  respond- 
ing, and  a  long  service  and  a  short  sermon,  and  a 
bag,  such  as  Judas  used  to  hold  in  the  old  pic- 
tures, was  carried  round  to  receive  contributions. 
Everything  was  done  not  only  "  decently  and  in 
order,"  but,  perhaps  one  might  say,  with  a  certain 
air  of  magnifying  their  office  on  the  part  of  the 
dignified  clergymen,  often  two  or  three  in  number. 
The  music  and  the  free  welcome  were  grateful  to 
Iris,  and  she  forgot  her  prejudices  at  the  door  of 
the  chapel.  For  this  was  a  church  with  open 
doors,  with  seats  for  all  classes  and  all  colors 
alike,  —  a  church  of  zealous  worshippers  after  their 
faith,  of  charitable  and  serviceable  men  and  wom- 
en, one  that  took  care  of  its  children  and  never 
forgot  its  poor,  and  whose  people  were  much  more 
occupied  in  looking  out  for  their  own  souls  than 
in  attacking  the  faith  of  their  neighbors.  In  its 
mode  of  worship  there  was  a  union  of  two  quali- 
ties, —  the  taste  and  refinement,  which  the  edu- 
cated require  just  as  much  in  their  churches  as 
elsewhere,  and  the  air  of  stateliness,  almost  of 
pomp,  which  impresses  the  common  worshipper, 
and  is  often  not  without  its  effect  upon  those  who 
think  they  hold  outward  forms  as  of  little  value. 
Under  the  half-Romish  aspect  of  the  Church  of 
Saint    Poly  carp,   the    young    girl    found   a    devout 


THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.      2G7 

and  loving  and  singularly  cheerful  religious  spirit. 
The  artistic  sense,  which  betrayed  itself  in  the 
dramatic  proprieties  of  its  ritual,  harmonized  with 
her  taste.  The  mingled  murmur  of  the  loud  re- 
sponses, in  those  rhythmic  phrases,  so  simple,  yet 
so  fervent,  almost  as  if  every  tenth  heart-beat,  in- 
stead of  its  dull  tic-tac,  articulated  itself  as  "  Good 
Lord,  deliver  us  !  "  —  the  sweet  alternation  of  the 
two  choirs,  as  their  holy  song  floated  from  side  to 
side,  —  the  keen  young  voices  rising  like  a  flight 
of  singing-birds  that  passes  from  one  grove  to 
another,  carrying  its  music  with  it  back  and  for- 
ward, —  why  should  she  not  love  these  gracious 
outward  signs  of  those  inner  harmonies  which 
none  could  deny  made  beautiful  the  lives  of  many 
of  her  fellow-worshippers  in  the  humble,  yet  not 
inelegant   Chapel  of  Saint  Polycarp  ? 

The  young  Marylander,  who  was  born  and  bred 
to  that  mode  of  worship,  had  introduced  her  to 
the  chapel,  for  which  he  did  the  honors  for  such 
of  our  boarders  as  were  not  otherwise  provided 
for.  I  saw  them  looking  over  the  same  prayer- 
book  one  Sunday,  and  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing that  two  such  young  and  handsome  persons 
could  hardly  worship  together  in  safety  for  a  great 
while.  But  they  seemed  to  mind  nothing  but 
their  prayer-book.  By-and-by  the  silken  bag  was 
handed  round.  —  I  don't  believe  she  will ;  —  so 
awkward,  you  know;  —  besides,  she  only  came  by 


2C8       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

invitation.  There  she  is,  with  her  hand  in  her 
pocket,  though, —  and  sure  enough,  her  little  bit 
of  silver  tinkled  as  it  struck  the  coin  beneath. 
God  bless  her !  she  hasn't  much  to  give  ;  but  her 
eye  glistens  when  she  gives  it,  and  that  is  all 
Heaven  asks.  —  That  was  the  first  time  I  noticed 
these  young  people  together,  and  I  am  sure  they 
behaved  with  the  most  charming  propriety,  —  in 
fact,  there  was  one  of  our  silent  lady-boarders 
with  them,  whose  eyes  would  have  kept  Cupid 
and  Psyche  to  their  good  behavior.  A  day  or  two 
after  this  I  noticed  that  the  young  gentleman  had 
left  his  seat,  which  you  may  remember  was  at  the 
corner  diagonal  to  that  of  Iris,  so  that  they  have 
been  as  far  removed  from  each  other  as  they 
could  be  at  the  table.  His  new  seat  is  three  or 
four  places  farther  down  the  table.  Of  course  I 
made  a  romance  out  of  this,  at  once.  So  stupid 
not  to  see  it!  How  could  it  be  otherwise?  —  Did 
you  speak,  Madam?  I  beg  your  pardon.  (To 
my  lady-reader.) 

I  never  saw  anything  like  the  tenderness  with 
which  this  young  girl  treats  her  little  deformed 
neighbor.  If  he  were  in  the  way  of  going  to 
church,  I  know  she  would  follow  him.  But  his 
worship,  if  any,  is  not  with  the  throng  of  men 
and  women  and  staring  children. 

I,  the  Professor,  on  the  other  hand,  am  a  reg- 
ular church-goer.     I  should  go  for  various  reasons, 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       269 

if  I  did  not  love  it ;  but  I  am  happy  enough  to 
find  great  pleasure  in  the  midst  of  devout  multi- 
tudes, whether  I  can  accept  all  their  creeds  or  not. 
One  place  of  worship  comes  nearer  than  the  rest 
to  my  ideal  standard,  and  to  this  it  was  that  I 
carried  our  young  girl. 

The  Church  of  the  Galileans,  as  it  is  called,  is 
even  humbler  in  outside  pretensions  than  the 
Church  of  Saint  Polycarp.  Like  that,  it  is  open 
to  all  comers.  The  stranger  who  approaches  it 
looks  down  a  quiet  street  and  sees  the  plainest 
of  chapels,  —  a  kind  of  wooden  tent,  that  owes 
whatever  grace  it  has  to  its  pointed  windows  and 
the  high,  sharp  roof,  —  traces,  both,  of  that  up- 
ward movement  of  ecclesiastical  architecture  which 
soared  aloft  in  cathedral-spires,  shooting  into  the 
sky  as  the  spike  of  a  flowering  aloe  from  the 
cluster  of  broad,  sharp-wedged  leaves  below.  This 
suggestion  of  mediaeval  symbolism,  aided  by  a 
minute  turret  in  which  a  hand-bell  might  have 
hung  and  found  just  room  enough  to  turn  over, 
was  all  of  outward  show  the  small  edifice  could 
boast.  Within  there  was  very  little  that  pretended 
to  be  attractive.  A  small  organ  at  one  side,  and 
a  plain  pulpit,  showed  that  the  building  was  a 
church  ;  but  it  was  a  church  reduced  to  its  sim- 
plest expression. 

Yet  when  the  great  and  wise  monarch  of  the 
East  sat  upon  his  throne,  in  all   the   golden    blaze 


270       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

of  the  spoils  of  Ophir  and  the  freights  of  the  navy 
of  Tarshish,  his  glory  was  not  like  that  of  this 
simple  chapel  in  its  Sunday  garniture.  For  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  in  their  season,  and  the  fairest 
flowers  of  the  year,  in  due  succession,  were  clus- 
tered every  Sunday  morning  over  the  preacher's 
desk.  Slight,  thin-tissued  blossoms  of  pink  and 
blue  and  virgin  white  in  early  spring,  then  the 
full-breasted  and  deep-hearted  roses  of  summer, 
then  the  velvet-robed  crimson  and  yellow  flowers 
of  autumn,  and  in  the  winter  delicate  exotics  that 
grew  under  skies  of  glass  in  the  false  summers  of 
our  crystal  palaces  without  knowing  that  it  was 
the  dreadful  winter  of  New  England  which  was 
rattling  the  doors  and  frosting  the  panes, — in  their 
language  the  whole  year  told  its  history  of  life  and 
growth  and  beauty  from  that  simple  desk.  There 
was  always  at  least  one  good  sermon,  —  this  floral 
homily.  There  was  at  least  one  good  prayer,  — 
that  brief  space  when  all  were  silent,  after  the 
manner   of  the  Friends  at  their  devotions. 

Here,  too,  Iris  found  an  atmosphere  of  peace 
and  love.  The  same  gentle,  thoughtful  faces,  the 
same  cheerful  but  reverential  spirit,  the  same  quiet, 
the  same  life  of  active  benevolence.  But  in  all 
else  how  different  from  the  Church  of  Saint  Poly- 
carp!  No  clerical  costume,  no  ceremonial  forms, 
no  carefully  trained  choirs.  A  liturgy  they  have, 
to  be  sure,  which  does  not  scruple  to  borrow  from 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       271 

the  time-honored  manuals  of  devotion,  but  also 
does  not  hesitate  to  change  its  expressions  to  its 
own  liking. 

Perhaps  the  good  people  seem  a  little  easy  with 
each  other  ;  —  they  are  apt  to  nod  familiarly,  and 
have  even  been  known  to  whisper  before  the  min- 
ister came  in.  But  it  is  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  that 
old  Sunday  —  no,  —  Sabbath  face,  which  suggests 
the  idea  that  the  first  day  of  the  week  is  com- 
memorative of  some  most  mournful  event.  The 
truth  is,  these  brethren  and  sisters  meet  very  much 
as  a  family  does  for  its  devotions,  not  putting  off 
their  humanity  in  the  least,  considering  it  on  the 
whole  quite  a  delightful  matter  to  come  together 
for  prayer  and  song  and  good  counsel  from  kind 
and  wise  lips.  And  if  they  are  freer  in  their 
demeanor  than  some  very  precise  congregations, 
they  have  not  the  air  of  a  worldly  set  of  people. 
Clearly  they  have  not  come  to  advertise  their  tail- 
ors and  milliners,  nor  for  the  sake  of  exchanging 
criticisms  on  the  literary  character  of  the  sermon 
they  may  hear.  There  is  no  restlessness  and  no 
restraint  among  these  quiet,  cheerful  worshippers. 
One  thing  that  keeps  them  calm  and  happy  dur- 
ing the  season  so  evidently  trying  to  many  con- 
gregations is,  that  they  join  very  generally  in  the 
singing.  In  this  way  they  get  rid  of  that  ac- 
cumulated nervous  force  which  escapes  in  all  sorts 
of  fidgety  movements,  so  that  a  minister  trying  to 


272   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

keep  his  congregation  still  reminds  one  of  a  boy 
with  his  hand  over  the  nose  of  a  pump  which 
another  boy  is  working,  —  this  spirting  impatience 
of  the  people  is  so  like  the  jets  that  find  their 
way  through  his  fingers,  and  the  grand  rush  out 
at  the  final  Amen!  has  such  a  wonderful  likeness 
to  the  gush  that  takes  place  when  the  boy  pulls 
his  hand  away,  with  immense  relief,  as  it  seems, 
to  both  the  pump  and  the  officiating  youngster. 

How  sweet  is  this  blending  of  all  voices  and 
all  hearts  in  one  common  song  of  praise!  Some 
will  sing  a  little  loud,  perhaps,  —  and  now  and 
then  an  impatient  chorister  will  get  a  syllable  or 
two  in  advance,  or  an  enchanted  singer  so  lose  all 
thought  of  time  and  place  in  the  luxury  of  a 
closing  cadence  that  he  holds  on  to  the  last  semi- 
breve  upon  his  private  responsibility ;  but  how 
much  more  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  Psalmist  in 
the  music  of  these  imperfectly  trained  voices  than 
in  the  academic  niceties  of  the  paid  performers 
who  take  our  musical  worship   out  of  our   hands ! 

I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  creed  of  the 
Church  of  the  Galileans  is  not  laid  down  in  as 
many  details  as  that  of  the  Church  of  Saint  Poly- 
carp.  Yet  I  suspect,  if  one  of  the  good  people 
from  each  of  those  churches  had  met  over  the  bed 
of  a  suffering  fellow-creature,  or  for  the  promotion 
of  any  charitable  object,  they  would  have  found 
they  had    more   in    common    than    all    the    special 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       275 

beliefs  or  want  of  beliefs  that  separated  them 
would  amount  to.  There  are  always  many  who 
believe  that  the  fruits  of  a  tree  afford  a  better 
test  of  its  condition  than  a  statement  of  the  com- 
posts with  which  it  is  dressed,  —  though  the  last 
has   its  meaning  and  importance,  no  doubt. 

Between  these  two  churches,  then,  our  young 
Iris  divides  her  affections.  But  I  doubt  if  she 
listens  to  the  preacher  at  either  with  more  devo- 
tion than  she  does  to  her  little  neighbor  when  he 
talks  of  these  matters. 

What  does  he  believe  ?  In  the  first  place,  there 
is  some  deep-rooted  disquiet  lying  at  the  bottom 
of  his  soul,  which  makes  him  very  bitter  against 
all  kinds  of  usurpation  over  the  right  of  private 
judgment.  Over  this  seems  to  lie  a  certain  ten- 
derness for  humanity  in  general,  bred  out  of  life- 
long trial,  I  should  say,  but  sharply  streaked  with 
fiery  lines  of  wrath  at  various  individual  acts  of 
wrong,  especially  if  they  come  in  an  ecclesi- 
astical shape,  and  recall  to  him  the  days  when 
his  mother's  great-grandmother  was  strangled  on 
Witch  Hill,  with  a  text  from  the  Old  Testament 
for  her  halter.  With  all  this,  he  has  a  boundless 
belief  in  the  future  of  this  experimental  hemi- 
sphere, and  especially  in  the  destiny  of  the  free 
thought  of  its  northeastern  metropolis. 

A  man  can    see  further,  Sir,  —  he  said  one 

day,  —  from  the  top  of  Boston  State- House,  and 
12* 


274      THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

see  more  that  is  worth  seeing,  than  from ,  all  the 
pyramids  and  turrets  and  steeples  in  all  the  places 
in  the  world !  No  smoke,  Sir ;  no  fog,  Sir ;  and 
a  clean  sweep  from  the  Outer  Light  and  the  sea 
beyond  it  to  the  New  Hampshire  mountains ! 
Yes,  Sir,  —  and  there  are  great  truths  that  are 
higher  than  mountains  and  broader  than  seas,  that 
people  are  looking  for  from  the  tops  of  these  hills 
of  ours,  —  such  as  the  world  never  saw,  though  it 
might  have  seen  them  at  Jerusalem,  if  its  eyes 
had  been  open !  —  Where  do  they  have  most  crazy 
people  ?     Tell  me  that,  Sir ! 

I  answered,  that  I  had  heard  it  said  there  were 
more  in  New  England  than  in  most  countries, 
perhaps  more  than  in  any  part  of  the  world. 

Very  good,  Sir,  —  he  answered.  —  When  have 
there  been  most  people  killed  and  wounded  in  the 
course  of  this  century  ? 

During  the  wars  of  the  French  Empire,  no 
doubt,  —  I  said. 

That's  it!  that's  it!  — said  the  Little  Gentle- 
man ;  —  where  the  battle  of  intelligence  is  fought, 
there  are  most  minds  bruised  and  broken !  We're 
battling  for  a  faith  here,  Sir. 

The  divinity-student  remarked,  that  it  was  rather 
late  in  the  world's  history  for  men  to  be  looking 
out  for  a  new  faith. 

I  didn't  say  a  new  faith,  —  said  the  Little  Gen- 
tleman ;  —  old  or  new,  it  can't  help  being  different 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       275 

here  in  this  American  mind  of  ours  from  anything 
that  ever  was  before  ;  the  people  are  new,  Sir,  and 
that  makes  the  difference.  One  load  of  corn  goes 
to  the  sty,  and  makes  the  fat  of  swine,  —  another 
goes  to  the  farm-house,  and  becomes  the  muscle 
that  clothes  the  right  arms  of  heroes.  It  isn't 
where  a  pawn  stands  on  the  board  that  makes 
the  difference,  but  what  the  game  round  it  is 
when  it  is  on  this  or  that  square. 

Can  any  man  look  round  and  see  what  Chris- 
tian countries  are  now  doing,  and  how  they  are 
governed,  and  what  is  the  general  condition  of 
society,  without  seeing  that  Christianity  is  the  flag 
under  which  the  world  sails,  and  not  the  rudder 
that  steers  its  course  ?  No,  Sir !  There  was  a 
great  raft  built  about  two  thousand  years  ago, — 
call  it  an  ark,  rather,  —  the  world's  great  ark !  big 
enough  to  hold  all  mankind,  and  made  to  be 
launched  right  out  into  the  open  waves  of  life, — 
and  here  it  has  been  lying,  one  end  on  the  shore 
and  one  end  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  water, 
men  fighting  all  the  time  as  to  who  should  be 
captain  and  who  should  have  the  state-rooms,  and 
throwing  each  other  over  the  side  because  they 
could  not  agree  about  the  points  of  compass,  but 
the  great  vessel  never  getting  afloat  with  its  freight 
of  nations  and  their  rulers  ;  —  and  now,  Sir,  there 
is  and  has  been  for  this  long  time  a  fleet  of 
"  heretic "    lighters  sailing  out  of   Boston  Bay    and 


276   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

they  have  been  saying,  and  they  say  now,  and 
they  mean  to  keep  saying,  "Pump  out  your  bilge- 
water,  shovel  over  your  loads  of  idle  ballast,  get 
out  your  old  rotten  cargo,  and  we  will  carry  it 
out  into  deep  waters  and  sink  it  where  it  will 
never  be  seen  again;  so  shall  the  ark  of  the 
world's  hope  float  on  the  ocean,  instead  of  stick- 
ing in  the  dock-mud  where  it  is  lying ! " 

It's  a  slow  business,  this  of  getting  the  ark 
launched.  The  Jordan  wasn't  deep  enough,  and 
the  Tiber  wasn't  deep  enough,  and  the  Rhone 
wasn't  deep  enough,  and  the  Thames  wasn't 
deep  enough,  —  and  perhaps  the  Charles  isn't 
deep  enough ;  but  I  don't  feel  sure  of  that,  Sir, 
and  I  love  to  hear  the  workmen  knocking  at 
the  old  blocks  of  tradition  and  making  the  ways 
smooth  with  the  oil  of  the  Good  Samaritan.  I 
don't  know,  Sir, — but  I  do  think  she  stirs  a  little, 
—  I  do  believe  she  slides  ;  —  and  when  I  think  of 
what  a  work  that  is  for  the  dear  old  three-breasted 
mother  of  American  liberty,  I  would  not  take  all 
the  glory  of  all  the  greatest  cities  in  the  world  for 
my  birthright  in  the  soil  of  little  Boston! 

Some  of  us  could  not  help  smiling   at   this 

burst  of  local  patriotism,  especially  when  it  fin- 
ished with  the  last  two  words. 

And  Iris  smiled,  too.  But  it  was  the  radiant 
smile  of  pleasure  which  always  lights  up  her  face 
when  her  little  neighbor   gets  excited  on  the   great 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       277 

topics  of  progress  in  freedom  and  religion,  and 
especially  on  the  part  which,  as  he  pleases  him- 
self with  believing,  his  own  city  is  to  take  in  that 
consummation  of  human  development  to  which  he 
looks  forward. 

Presently  she  looked  into  his  face  with  a  changed 
expression,  —  the  anxiety  of  a  mother  that  sees  her 
child  suffering. 

You  are  not  well,  —  she  said. 

I  am  never  well,  —  he  answered.  —  His  eyes  fell 
mechanically  on  the  death's-head  ring  he  wore  on 
his  right  hand.  She  took  his  hand  as  if  it  had 
been  a  baby's,  and  turned  the  grim  device  so  that 
it  should  be  out  of  sight.  One  slight,  sad,  slow 
movement  of  the  head  seemed  to  say,  "  The  death- 
symbol  is  still  there  ! " 

A  very  odd  personage,  to  be  sure !  Seems  to 
know  what  is  going  on, — reads  books,  old  and 
new,  —  has  many  recent  publications  sent  him, 
they  tell  me,  —  but,  what  is  more  curious,  keeps 
up  with  the  every-day  affairs  of  the  world,  too. 
Whether  he  hears  everything  that  is  said  with 
preternatural  acuteness,  or  whether  some  confiden- 
tial friend  visits  him  in  a  quiet  way,  is  more  than 
I  can  tell.  I  can  make  nothing  more  of  the 
noises  I  hear  in  his  room  than  my  old  conject- 
ures. The  movements  I  mention  are  less  fre- 
quent, but  I  often  hear  the  plaintive  cry,  —  I 
observe     that    it    is    rarely    laughing    of    late ;  — 


278      THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

I  never  have  detected  one  articulate  word,  but  I 
never  heard  such  tones  from  anything  but  a  hu- 
man voice. 

There  has  been,  of  late,  a  deference  approach- 
ing to  tenderness,  on  the  part  of  the  boarders 
generally, "  so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  This  is 
doubtless  owing  to  the  air  of  suffering  which 
seems  to  have  saddened  his  look  of  late.  Either 
some  passion  is  gnawing  at  him  inwardly,  or 
some  hidden  disease  is  at  work  upon  him. 

"What's  the   matter  with    Little    Boston  ?  — 

said  the  young  man  John,  to  me  one  day. —  There 
a'n't  much  of  him,  anyhow ;  but  't  seems  to  me 
he  looks  peakeder  than  ever.  The  old  woman 
says  he's  in  a  bad  way,  'n'  wants  a  nuss  to  take 
care  of  him.  Them  nusses  that  take  care  of  old 
rich  folks  marry  'em  sometimes,  —  'n'  they  don't 
commonly  live  a  great  while  after  that.  No,  Sir! 
I  don't  see  what  he  wants  to  die  for,  after  he's 
taken  so  much  trouble  to  live  in  such  poor  ac- 
commodations as  that  crooked  body  of  his.  I 
should  like  to  know  how  his  soul  crawled  into  it, 
'n'  how  it's  goin'  to  get  out.  What  business  has 
he  to  die,  I  should  like  to  know?  Let  Ma'am 
Allen  (the  gentleman  with  the  diamond)  die,  if  he 
likes,  and  be  (this  is  a  family-magazine)  ;  but  we 
a'n't  goin'  to  have  him  dyin'.  Not  by  a  great 
sight.  Can't  do  without  him  anyhow.  A'n't  it 
fun  to  hear  him  blow  off  his  steam  ? 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT    THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.        279 

I  believe  the  young  fellow  would  take  it  as  a 
personal  insult,  if  the  Little .  Gentleman  should 
show  any  symptoms  of  quitting  our  table  for  a 
better   world. 

In    the    mean    time,    what    with    going   to 

church  in  company  with  our  young  lady,  and  tak- 
ing every  chance  I  could  get  to  talk  with  her,  I 
have  found  myself  becoming,  I  will  not  say  inti- 
mate, but  well  acquainted  with  Miss  Iris.  There  is 
a  certain  frankness  and  directness  about  her  that 
perhaps  belong  to  her  artist  nature.  For,  you  see, 
the  one  thing  that  marks  the  true  artist  is  a  clear 
perception  and  a  firm,  bold  hand,  in  distinction 
from  that  imperfect  mental  vision  and  uncertain 
touch  which  give  us  the  feeble  pictures  and  the 
lumpy  statues  of  the  mere  artisans  on  canvas  or 
in  stone.  A  true  artist,  therefore,  can  hardly  fail 
to  have  a  sharp,  well-defined  mental  physiognomy. 
Besides  this,  many  young  girls  have  a  strange 
audacity  blended  with  their  instinctive  delicacy. 
Even  in  physical  daring  many  of  them  are  a 
match  for  boys ;  whereas  you  will  find  few  among 
mature  women,  and  especially  if  they  are  mothers, 
who  do  not  confess,  and  not  unfrequently  pro- 
claim, their  timidity.  One  of  these  young  girls, 
as  many  of  us  hereabouts  remember,  climbed  to 
the  top  of  a  jagged,  slippery  rock  lying  out  in  the 
waves,  —  an  ugly  height  to  get  up,  and  a  worse 
one  to  get  down,  even  for  a  bold  young  fellow  of 


280       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

sixteen.  Another  was  in  the  way  of  climbing  tall 
trees  for  crows'  nests,  —  and  crows  generally  know 
about  how  far  boys  can  "shin  up,"  and  set  their 
household  establishments  above  that  high- water- 
mark. Still  another  of  these  young  ladies  I  saw 
for  the  first  time  in  an  open  boat,  tossing  on  the 
ocean  ground-swell,  a  mile  or  two  from  shore,  off 
a  lonely  island.  She  lost  all  her  daring,  after  she 
had  some  girls  of  her  own  to  look  out  for. 

Many  blondes  are  very  gentle,  yielding  in  charac- 
ter, impressible,  unelastic.  But  the  positive  blondes, 
with  the  golden  tint  running  through  them,  are  of- 
ten full  of  character.  They  come,  probably  enough, 
from  those  deep-bosomed  German  women  that  Tac- 
itus portrayed  in  such  strong  colors.  The  negative 
blondes,  or  those  women  whose  tints  have  faded 
out  as  their  line  of  descent  has  become  impover- 
ished, are  of  various  blood,  and  in  them  the  soul 
has  often  become  pale  with  that  blanching  of  the 
hair  and  loss  of  color  in  the  eyes  which  makes 
them  approach  the  character  of  Albinesses. 

I  see  in  this  young  girl  that  union  of  strength 
and  sensibility  which,  when  directed  and  impelled 
by  the  strong  instinct  so  apt  to  accompany  this 
combination  of  active  and  passive  capacity,  we 
call  genius.  She  is  not  an  accomplished  artist, 
certainly,  as  yet ;  but  there  is  always  an  air  in 
every  careless  figure  she  draws,  as  it  were  of  up- 
ward aspiration,  —  the  elan   of  John    of   Bologna's 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       281 

Mercury,  —  a  lift  to  them,  as  if  they  had  on 
winged  sandals,  like  the  herald  of  the  Gods.  I 
hear  her  singing  sometimes ;  and  though  she  evi- 
dently is  not  trained,  yet  is  there  a  wild  sweet- 
ness in  her  fitful  and  sometimes  fantastic  melo- 
dies,—  such  as  can  come  only  from  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment,  —  strangely  enough,  remind- 
ing me  of  those  long  passages  I  have  heard  from 
my  little  neighbor's  room,  yet  of  different  tone, 
and  by  no  means  to  be  mistaken  for  those  weird 
harmonies. 

I  cannot  pretend  to  deny  that  I  am  interested 
in  the  girl.  Alone,  unprotected,  as  I  have  seen 
so  many  young  girls  left  in  boarding-houses,  the 
centre  of  all  the  men's  eyes  that  surround  the 
table,  watched  with  jealous  sharpness  by  every 
woman,  most  of  all  by  that  poor  relation  of  our 
landlady,  who  belongs  to  the  class  of  women  that 
like  to  catch  others  in  mischief  when  they  them- 
selves are  too  mature  for  indiscretions,  (as  one 
sees  old  rogues  turn  to  thief-catchers,)  one  of  Na- 
ture's gendarmerie,  clad  in  a  complete  suit  of 
wrinkles,  the  cheapest  coat-of-mail  against  the 
shafts  of  the  great  little  enemy,  —  so  surrounded, 
Iris  spans  this  commonplace  household-life  of  ours 
with  her  arch  of  beauty,  as  the  rainbow,  whose 
name  she  borrows,  looks  down  on  a  dreary  pasture 
with  its  feeding  flocks  and  herds  of  indifferent 
animals. 


282       THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

These  young  girls  that  live  in  boarding-houses 
can  do  pretty  much  as  they  will.  The  female 
gendarmes  are  off  guard  occasionally.  The  sitting- 
room  has  its  solitary  moments,  when  any  two 
boarders  who  wish  to  meet  may  come  together 
accidentally,  [accidentally,  I  said,  Madam,  and  I 
had  not  the  slighest  intention  of  Italicizing  the 
word,)  and  discuss  the  social  or  political  questions 
of  the  day,  or  any  other  subject  that  may  prove 
interesting.  Many  charming  conversations  take 
place  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  or  while  one  of  the 
parties  is  holding  the  latch  of  a  door, — in  the 
shadow  of  porticos,  and  especially  on  those  out- 
side balconies  which  some  of  our  Southern  neigh- 
bors call  "  stoops,"  the  most  charming  places  in 
the  world  when  the  moon  is  just  right  and  the 
roses  and  honeysuckles  are  in  full  blow,  —  as  we 
used  to  think  in  eighteen  hundred  and  never  men- 
tion it. 

On  such  a  balcony  or  "  stoop,"  one  evening,  I 
walked  with  Iris.  We  were  on  pretty  good  terms 
now,  and  I  had  coaxed  her  arm  under  mine, — 
my  left  arm,  of  course.  That  leaves  one's  right 
arm  free  to  defend  the  lovely  creature,  if  the  rival 
—  odious  wretch!  —  attempt  to  ravish  her  from 
your  side.  Likewise  if  one's  heart  should  happen 
to  beat  a  little,  its  mute  language  will  not  be 
without  its  meaning,  as  you  will  perceive  when 
the  arm  you  hold   begins   to   tremble,  —  a   circum- 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       283 

stance  like  to  occur,  if  you  happen  to  be  a  good- 
looking  young  fellow,  and  you  two  have  the 
"  stoop  "  to  yourselves. 

We  had  it  to  ourselves  that  evening.  The  Koh- 
i-noor,  as  we  called  him,  was  in  a  corner  with 
our  landlady's  daughter.  The  young  fellow  John 
was  smoking  out  in  the  yard.  The  gendarme  was 
afraid  of  the  evening  air,  and  kept  inside.  The 
young  Marylander  came  to  the  door,  looked  out 
and  saw  us  walking  together,  gave  his  hat  a  pull 
over  his  forehead  and  stalked  off.  I  felt  a  slight 
spasm,  as  it  were,  in  the  arm  I  held,  and  saw  the 
girl's  head  turn  over  her  shoulder  for  a  second. 
What  a  kind  creature  this  is !  She  has  no  special 
interest  in  this  youth,  but  she  does  not  like  to  see 
a  young  fellow  going  off  because  he  feels  as  if,  he 
were  not  wanted. 

She  had  her  locked  drawing-book  under  her 
arm.  —  Let  me  take  it,  —  I  said. 

She  gave  it  to  me  to  carry. 

This  is  full  of  caricatures  of  all  of  us,  I  am 
sure,  —  said  I. 

She  laughed,  and  said,  —  No,  —  not  all  of  you. 

I  was  there,  of  course  ? 

Why,  no,  —  she  had  never  taken  so  much  pains 
with  me. 

Then  she  would  let  me  see  the  inside  of  it? 

She  would  think  of  it. 

Just    as   we  parted,    she    took    a    little   key  from 


284      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

her  pocket  and  handed  it  to  me.  —  This  unlocks 
my  naughty  book,  —  she  said,  —  you  shall  see  it. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  you. 

I  don't  know  whether  the  last  words  exactly 
pleased  me.  At  any  rate,  I  took  the  book  and 
hurried  with  it  to  my  room.  I  opened  it,  and 
saw,  in  a  few  glances,  that  I  held  the  heart  of 
Iris  in  my  hand. 

1  have  no  verses  for  you  this  month,  ex- 
cept these  few  lines  suggested  by  the  season. 


MIDSUMMER. 

Here  !  sweep  these  foolish  leaves  away, — 
I  will  not  crush  my  brains  to-day!  — 
Look !  are  the  southern  curtains  drawn  ? 
Fetch  me  a  fan,  and  so  begone! 

Not  that,  —  the  palm-tree's  rustling  leaf 
Brought  from  a  parching  coral-reef! 
Its  breath  is  heated;  —  I  would  swing 
The  broad  gray  plumes, —  the  eagle's  wing. 

I  hate  these  roses'  feverish  blood !  — 
Pluck  me  a  half-blown  lily-bud, 
A  long-stemmed  lily  from  the  lake, 
Cold  as  a  coiling  water-snake. 

Rain  me  sweet  odors  on  the  air, 
And  wheel  me  up  my  Indian  chair, 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       285 

And  Bpread  some  book  not  overwise 
Flat  out  before  my  sleepy  eyes. 

—  Who  knows  it  not,  —  this  dead  recoil 
Of  weary  fibres  stretched  Avith  toil,  — 
The  pulse  that  flutters  faint  and  low 
When  Summer's  seething  breezes  blow  ? 

O  Nature  !  bare  thy  loving  breast 
And  give  thy  child  one  hour  of  rest, — 
One  little  hour  to  lie  unseen 
Beneath  thy  scarf  of  leafy  green ! 

So,  curtained  by  a  singing  pine, 

Its  murmuring  voice  shall  blend  with  mine, 

Till,  lost  in  dreams,  my  faltering  lay 

In  sweeter  music  dies  away. 


Jrt0,   Ijer   Book. 


I  pray  thee  by  the  soul  of  her  that  bore  thee, 
By  thine  own  sister's  spirit  I  implore  thee, 
Deal  gently  with  the  leaves  that  lie  before  thee  ! 

For  Iris  had  no  mother  to  infold  her, 

Nor  ever  leaned  upon  a  sister's  shoulder, 

Telling  the  twilight  thoughts  that  Nature  told  her. 

She  had  not  learned  the  mystery  of  awaking 
Those  chorded  keys  that  soothe  a  sorrow's  aching, 
Giving  the  dumb  heart  voice,  that  else  were  breaking. 


286       THE   PKOFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Yet  lived,  wrought,  suffered.     Lo,  the  pictured  token  ! 
Why  should  her  fleeting  day-dreams  fade  unspoken, 
Like  daffodils  that  die  with  sheaths  unbroken  ? 

She  knew  not  love,  yet  lived  in  maiden  fancies,. — 

Walked  simply  clad,  a  queen  of  high  romances, 

And  talked  strange  tongues  with  angels  in  her  trances. 


Twin-souled  she  seemed,  a  twofold  nature  wearing, 

Sometimes  a  flashing  falcon  in  her  daring, 

Then  a  poor  mateless  dove  that  droops  despairing. 


Questioning  all  things :     Why  her  Lord  had  sent  her  ? 
What  were  these  torturing  gifts,  and  wherefore  lent  her? 
Scornful  as  spirit  fallen,  its  own  tormentor. 

And  then  all  tears  and  anguish :     Queen  of  Heaven, 
Sweet  Saints,  and  Thou  by  mortal  sorrows  riven, 
Save  me !  oh,  save  me !  Shall  I  die  forgiven  ? 

And  then Ah,  God  !     But  nay,  it  little  matters  : 

Look  at  the  wasted  seeds  that  autumn  scatters, 
The  myriad  germs  that  Nature  shapes  and  shatters ! 

If  she  had Well !     She  longed,  and  knew  not  wherefore. 

Had  the  world  nothing  she  might  live  to  care  for  ? 
No  second  self  to  say  her  evening  prayer  for  ? 

She  knew  the  marble  shapes  that  set  men  dreaming, 
Yet  with  her  shoulders  bare  and  tresses  streaming 
Showed  not  unlovely  to  her  simple  seeming. 

Vain  ?     Let  it  be  so !     Nature  was  her  teacher. 
What  if  a  lonely  and  unsistered  creature 
Loved  her  own  harmless  gift  of  pleasing  feature, 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKEAST-TABLE.       287 

Saying,  ansaddened,  —  This  shall  soon  be  faded, 
And  double-hued  the  shining  tresses  braided, 
And  all  the  sunlight  of  the  morning  shaded  ? 

This  her  poor  book  is  full  of  saddest  follies, 

Of  tearful  smiles  and  laughing  melancholies, 
With  summer  roses  twined  and  wintry  hollies. 

In  the  strange  crossing  of  uncertain  chances, 
Somewhere,  beneath  some  maiden's  tear-dimmed  glances 
May  fall  her  little  book  of  dreams  and  fancies. 

Sweet  sister !     Iris,  who  shall  never  name  thee, 
Trembling  for  fear  her  open  heart  may  shame  thee, 
Speaks  from  this  vision-haunted  page  to  claim  thee. 

Spare  her,  I  pray  thee  !     If  the  maid  is  sleeping, 
Peace  with  her!  she  has  had  her  hour  of  weeping. 
No  more !     She  leaves  her  memory  in  thy  keeping. 

These  verses  were  written  in  the  first  leaves  of 
the  locked  volume.  As  I  turned  the  pages,  I 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  Is  it  quite  fair  to  take 
advantage  of  a  generous,  trusting  impulse  to  read 
the  unsunned  depths  of  a  young  girl's  nature, 
which  I  can  look  through,  as  the  balloon-voyagers 
tell  us  they  see  from  their  hanging-baskets  through 
the  translucent  waters  which  the  keenest  eye  of 
such  as  sail  over  them  in  ships  might  strive  to 
pierce  in  vain  ?  Why  has  the  child  trusted 
me  with  such  artless  confessions,  —  self-revelations, 
which    might     be     whispered     by    trembling    lips, 


288       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

under  the  veil  of  twilight,  in  sacred  confessionals, 
but  which  I  cannot  look  at  in  the  light  of  day 
without  a  feeling  of  wronging  a  sacred  confi- 
dence ? 

To  all  this  the  answer  seemed  plain  enough 
after  a  little  thought.  She  did  not  know  how 
fearfully  she  had  disclosed  herself ;  she  was  too 
profoundly  innocent.  Her  soul  was  no  more 
ashamed  than  the  fair  shapes  that  walked  in 
Eden  without  a  thought  of  over-liberal  loveliness. 
Having  nobody  to  tell  her  story  to,  —  having,  as 
she  said  in  her  verses,  no  musical  instrument  to 
laugh  and  cry  with  her,  —  nothing,  in  short,  but 
the  language  of  pen  and  pencil,  —  all  the  veinings 
of  her  nature  were  impressed  on  these  pages,  as 
those  of  a  fresh  leaf  are  transferred  to  the  blank 
sheets  which  inclose  it.  It  was  the  same  thing 
which  I  remember  seeing  beautifully  shown  in  a 
child  of  some  four  or  five  years  we  had  one  day 
at  our  boarding-house.  This  child  was  a  deaf 
mute.  But  its  soul  had  the  inner  sense  that  an- 
swers to  hearing,  and  the  shaping  capacity  which 
through  natural  organs  realizes  itself  in  words. 
Only  it  had  to  talk  with  its  face  alone ;  and  such 
speaking  eyes,  such  rapid  alternations  of  feeling 
and  shifting  expressions  of  thought  as  flitted  over 
its  face,  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  human 
countenance. 

I  wonder  if  something  of  spiritual   transparency 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       289 

is  not  typified  in  the  golden-blonde  organization. 
There  are  a  great  many  little  creatures,  —  many 
small  fishes,  for  instance,  —  which  are  literally  trans- 
parent, with  the  exception  of  some  of  the  internal 
organs.  The  heart  can  be  seen  beating  as  if 
in  a  case  of  clouded  crystal.  The  central  nervous 
column  with  its  sheath  runs  as  a  dark  stripe 
through  the  whole  length  of  the  diaphanous  mus- 
cles of  the  body.  Other  little  creatures  are  so 
darkened  with  pigment  that  we  can  see  only  their 
surface.  Conspirators  and  poisoners  are  painted 
with  black,  beady  eyes  and  swarthy  hue ;  Judas, 
in  Leonardo's  picture,  is  the  model  of  them  all. 

However  this  may  be,  I  should  say  there  never 
had  been  a  book  like  this  of  Iris,  —  so  full  of  the 
heart's  silent  language,  so  transparent  that  the 
heart  itself  could  be  seen  beating  through  it.  I 
should  say  there  never  could  have  been  such  a 
book,  but  for  one  recollection,  which  is  not  pecu- 
liar to  myself,  but  is  shared  by  a  certain  number 
of  my  former  townsmen.  If  you  think  I  overcolor 
this  matter  of  the  young  girl's  book,  hear  this, 
which  there  are  others,  as  I  just  said,  besides  my- 
self, will  tell  you  is  strictly  true. 

The  Book  of  the    Three  Maiden  Sisters. 
In    the    town    called    Cantabridge,    now    a    city, 
water-veined  and  gas  windpiped,  in  the  street  run- 
ning   down    to    the    Bridge,    beyond   which    dwelt 

13 


290       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Sally,  told  of  in  a  book  of  a  friend  of  mine,  was 
of  old  a  house  inhabited  by  three  maidens.  They 
left  no  near  kinsfolk,  I  believe;  if  they  did,  I 
have  no  ill  to  speak  of  them;  for  they  lived  and 
died  in  all  good  report  and  maidenly  credit.  The 
house  they  lived  in  was  of  the  small,  gambrel- 
roofed  cottage  pattern,  after  the  shape  of  Esquires' 
houses,  but  after  the  size  of  the  dwellings  of 
handicraftsmen.  The  lower  story  was  fitted  up  as 
a  shop.  Specially  was  it  provided  with  one  of 
those  half-doors  now  so  rarely  met  with,  which 
are  to  whole  doors  as  spencers  worn  by  old  folk 
are  to  coats.  They  speak  of  limited  commerce 
united  with  a  social  or  observing  disposition  on 
the  part  of  the  shopkeeper,  —  allowing,  as  they  do, 
talk  with  passers-by,  yet  keeping  off  such  as  have 
not  the  excuse  of  business  to  cross  the  threshold. 
On  the  door-posts,  at  either  side,  above  the  half- 
door,  hung  certain  perennial  articles  of  merchan- 
dise, of  which  my  memory  still  has  hanging 
among  its  faded  photographs  a  kind  of  netted 
scarf  and  some  pairs  of  thick  woollen  stockings. 
More  articles,  but  not  very  many,  were  stored  in- 
side; and  there  was  one  drawer,  containing  chil- 
dren's books,  out  of  which  I  once  was  treated  to 
a  minute  quarto  ornamented  with  handsome  cuts. 
This  was  the  only  purchase  I  ever  knew  to  be 
made  at  the  shop  kept  by  the  three  maiden  ladies, 
though  it  is  probable  there  were   others.     So   long 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       201 

as  I  remember  the  shop,  the  same  scarf  and,  I 
should  say,  the  same  stockings  hung  on  the  door- 
posts.—  [You  think  I  am  exaggerating  again,  and 
that  shopkeepers  would  not  keep  the  same  article 
exposed  for  years.  Come  to  me,  the  Professor, 
and  I  will  take  you  in  five  minutes  to  a  shop  in 
this  city  where  I  will  show  you  an  article  hang- 
ing now  in  the  very  place  where  more  than  thirty 
years  ago  I  myself  inquired  the  price  of  it  of  the 
present  head  of  the  establishment.] 

The  three  maidens  were  of  comely  presence, 
and  one  of  them  had  had  claims  to  be  considered 
a  Beauty.  When  I  saw  them  in  the  old  meet- 
ing-house on  Sundays,  as  they  rustled  in  through 
the  aisles  in  silks  and  satins,  not  gay,  but  more 
than  decent,  as  I  remember  them,  I  thought  of 
My  Lady  Bountiful  in  the  history  of  "  Little 
King  Pippin,"  and  of  the  Madam  Blaize  of  Gold- 
smith (who,  by  the  way,  must  have  taken  the  hint 
of  it  from  a  pleasant  poem,  "  Monsieur  de  la 
Palisse,"  attributed  to  De  la  Monnoye,  in  the  col- 
lection of  French  songs  before  me).*  There  was 
some  story  of  an  old  romance  in  which  the 
Beauty  had  played  her  part.  Perhaps  they  all 
had  had  lovers ;  for,  as  I  said,  they  were  shapely 
and  seemly  personages,  as  I  remember  them  ;  but 
their  lives  were  out  of  the  flower  and  in  the  berry 
at  the  time  of  my  first  recollections. 

*  Vide  Bartlett's  "  Familiar  Quotations." 


292       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

One  after  another  they  all  three  dropped  away, 
objects  of  kindly  attention  to  the  good  people 
round,  leaving  little  or  almost  nothing,  and  no- 
body to  inherit  it.  Not  absolutely  nothing,  of 
course.  There  must  have  been  a  few  old  dresses, 
—  perhaps  some  bits  of  furniture,  a  Bible,  and  the 
spectacles  the  good  old  souls  read  it  through,  and 
little  keepsakes,  such  as  make  us  cry  to  look  at, 
when  we  find  them  in  old  drawers ;  —  such  relics 
there  must  have  been.  But  there  was  more. 
There  was  a  manuscript  of  some  hundred  pages, 
closely  written,  in  which  the  poor  things  had 
chronicled  for  many  years  the  incidents  of  their 
daily  life.  After  their  death  it  was  passed  round 
somewhat  freely,  and  fell  into  my  hands.  How  I 
have  cried  and  laughed  and  colored  over  it! 
There  was  nothing  in  it  to  be  ashamed  of,  per- 
haps there  was  nothing  in  it  to  laugh  at,  but 
such  a  picture  of  the  mode  of  being  of  poor 
simple  good  old  women  I  do  believe  was  never 
drawn  before.  And  there  were  all  the  smallest 
incidents  recorded,  such  as  do  really  make  up 
humble  life,  but  which  die  out  of  all  mere  literary 
memoirs,  as  the  houses  where  the  Egyptians  or 
the  Athenians  lived  crumble  and  leave  only  their 
temples  standing.  I  know,  for  instance,  that  on  a 
given  day  of  a  certain  year,  a  kindly  woman,  her- 
self a  poor  widow,  now,  I  trust,  not  without 
special    mercies   in    heaven  for   her   good   deeds, — 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   TIIE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       293 

for  I  read  her  name  on  a  proper  tablet  in  the 
churchyard  a  week  ago,  —  sent  a  fractional  pud- 
ding from  her  own  table  to  the  Maiden  Sisters, 
who,  I  fear,  from  the  warmth  and  detail  of  their 
description,  were  fasting,  or  at  least  on  short 
allowance,  about  that  time.  I  know  who  sent 
them  the  segment  of  melon,  which  in  her  riotous 
fancy  one  of  them  compared  to  those  huge  barges 
to  which  we  give  the  ungracious  name  of  mud- 
scows.  But  why  should  I  illustrate  further  what 
it  seems  almost  a  breach  of  confidence  to  speak 
of?  Some  kind  friend,  who  could  challenge  a 
nearer  interest  than  the  curious  strangers  into 
whose  hands  the  book  might  fall,  at  last  claimed 
it,  and  I  was  glad  that  it  should  be  henceforth 
sealed  to  common  eyes.  I  learned  from  it  that 
every  good  and,  alas !  every  evil  act  we  do  may 
slumber  unforgotten  even  in  some  earthly  record. 
I  got  a  new  lesson  in  that  humanity  which  our 
sharp  race  finds  it  so  hard  to  learn.  The  poor 
widow,  fighting  hard  to  feed  and  clothe  and  edu- 
cate her  children,  had  not  forgotten  the  poorer 
ancient  maidens.  I  remembered  it  the  other  day, 
as  I  stood  by  her  place  of  rest,  and  I  felt  sure 
that  it  was  remembered  elsewhere.  I  know  there 
are  prettier  words  than  pudding,  but  I  can't  help 
it,  —  the  pudding  went  upon  the  record,  I  feel 
sure,  with  the  mite  which  was  cast  into  the  trea- 
sury  by   that   other   poor   widow    whose    deed    the 


294       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

world  shall  remember  forever,  and  with  the  coats 
and  garments  which  the  good  women  cried  over, 
when  Tabitha,  called  by  interpretation  Dorcas,  lay- 
dead  in  the  upper  chamber,  with  her  charitable 
needlework  strewed  around  her. 


Such  was  the  Book  of  the  Maiden  Sisters. 

You  will  believe  me  more  readily  now  when  I 
tell  you  that  I  found  the  soul  of  Iris  in  the  one 
that  lay  open  before  me.  Sometimes  it  was  a 
poem  that  held  it,  sometimes  a  drawing,  —  angel, 
arabesque,  caricature,  or  a  mere  hieroglyphic  sym- 
bol of  which  I  could  make  nothing.  A  rag  of 
cloud  on  one  page,  as  I  remember,  with  a  streak 
of  red  zigzagging  out  of  it  across  the  paper  as 
naturally  as  a  crack  runs  through  a  China  bowl. 
On  the  next  page  a  dead  bird,  —  some  little 
favorite,  I  suppose  ;  for  it  was  worked  out  with  a 
special  love,  and  I  saw  on  the  leaf  that  sign  with 
which  once  or  twice  in  my  life  I  have  had  a  let- 
ter sealed,  —  a  round  spot  where  the  paper  is 
slightly  corrugated,  and,  if  there  is  writing  there, 
the  letters  are  somewhat  faint  and  blurred.  Most 
of  'the  pages  were  surrounded  with  emblematic 
traceries.  It  was  strange  to  me  at  first  to  see 
how  often  she  introduced  those  homelier  wild- 
flowers  which  we  call  weeds,  —  for  it  seemed  there 
was  none  of  them  too  humble  for  her  to  love,  and 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       295 

none  too  little  cared  for  by  Nature  to  be  without 
its  beauty  for  her  artist  eye  and  pencil.  By  the 
side  of  the  garden-flowers,  —  of  Spring's  curled 
darlings,  the  hyacinths,  of  rosebuds,  dear  to  sketch- 
ing maidens,  of  flower-de-luces  and  morning-glories, 
—  nay,  oftener  than  these,  and  more  tenderly  ca- 
ressed by  the  colored  brush  that  rendered  them, — 
were  those  common  growths  which  fling  them- 
selves to  be  crushed  under  our  feet  and  our 
wheels,  making  themselves  so  cheap  in  this  per- 
petual martyrdom  that  we  forget  each  of  them  is 
a  ray  of  the  Divine  beauty. 

Yellow  japanned  buttercups  and  star-disked  dan- 
delions,—  just  as  we  see  them  lying  in  the  grass, 
like  sparks  that  have  leaped  from  the  kindling  sun 
of  summer;  the  profuse  daisy-like  flower  which 
whitens  the  fields,  to  the  great  disgust  of  liberal 
shepherds,  yet  seems  fair  to  loving  eyes,  with  its 
button-like  mound  of  gold  set  round  with  milk- 
white  rays ;  the  tall-stemmed  succory,  setting  its 
pale  blue  flowers  aflame,  one  after  another,  spar- 
ingly, as  the  lights  are  kindled  in  the  candelabra 
of  decaying  palaces  where  the  heirs  of  dethroned 
monarchs  are  dying  out ;  the  red  and  white  clo- 
vers ;  the  broad,  flat  leaves  of  the  plantain,  —  u  the 
white  man's  foot,"  as  the  Indians  called  it, — the 
wiry,  jointed  stems  of  that  iron  creeping  plant 
which  we  call  "  knot-grass"  and  which  loves  its 
life  so  dearly  that  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  mur- 


296       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

der  it  with  a  hoe,  as  it  clings  to  the  cracks  of  the 
pavement ;  —  all  these  plants,  and  many  more,  she 
wove  into  her  fanciful  garlands  and  borders.  —  On 
one  of  the  pages  were  some  musical  notes.  I 
touched  them  from  curiosity  on  a  piano  belonging 
to  one  of  our  boarders.  Strange !  There  are  pas- 
sages that  I  have  heard  before,  plaintive,  full  of 
some  hidden  meaning,  as  if  they  were  gasping  for 
words  to  interpret  them.  She  must  have  heard 
the  strains  that  have  so  excited  my  curiosity,  com- 
ing from  my  neighbor's  chamber.  The  illuminated 
border  she  had  traced  round  the  page  that  held 
these  notes  took  the  place  of  the  words  they 
seemed  to  be  aching  for.  Above,  a  long  monot- 
onous sweep  of  waves,  leaden-hued,  anxious  and 
jaded  and  sullen,  if  you  can  imagine  such  an  ex- 
pression in  water.  On  one  side  an  Alpine  needle, 
as  it  were,  of  black  basalt,  girdled  with  snow. 
On  the  other  a  threaded  waterfall.  The  red  morn- 
ing-tint that  shone  in  the  drops  had  a  strange 
look,  —  one  would  say  the  cliff  was  bleeding;  — 
perhaps  she  did  not  mean  it.  Below,  a  stretch  of 
sand,  and  a  solitary  bird  of  prey,  with  his  wings 
spread  over  some  unseen  object.  —  And  on  the  very 
next  page  a  procession  wound  along,  after  the 
fashion  of  that  on  the  title-page  of  Fuller's  "  Holy 
War,"  in  which  I  recognized  without  difficulty 
every  boarder  at  our  table  in  all  the  glory  of 
the   most    resplendent    caricature,  —  three   only    ex- 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.   29.7 

cepted, —  the    Little     Gentleman,    myself,    and    one 
other. 

I  confess  I  did  expect  to  see  something  that 
would  remind  me  of  the  girl's  little  deformed 
neighbor,  if  not  portraits  of  him. —  There  is  a 
left  arm  again,  though  ;  —  no,  —  that  is  from  the 
"Fighting  Gladiator,"  —  the  " Jeune  Heros  combat- 
tant "  of  the  Louvre ;  —  there  is  the  broad  ring  of 
the  shield.  From  a  cast,  doubtless.  [The  separate 
casts  of  the  "  Gladiator's  "  arm  look  immense ;  but 
in  its  place  the  limb  looks  light,  almost  slender, — 
such  is  the  perfection  of  that  miraculous  marble. 
I  never  felt  as  if  I  touched  the  life  of  the  old 
Greeks  until  I  looked,  on  that  statue.]  —  Here  is 
something  very  odd,  to  be  sure.  An  Eden  of  all 
the  humped  and  crooked  creatures  !  What  could, 
have  been  in  her  head  when  she  worked  out 
such  a  fantasy?  She  has  contrived  to  give  them 
all  beauty  or  dignity  or  melancholy  grace.  A 
Bactrian  camel  lying  under  a  palm.  A  dromedary 
flashing  up  the  sands,  —  spray  of  the  dry  ocean 
sailed  by  the  "  ship  of  the  desert."  A  herd  of 
buffaloes,  uncouth,  shaggy-maned,  heavy  in  the 
forehand,  light  in  the  hind-quarter.  [The  buffalo 
is  the  lion  of  the  ruminants.]  And  there  is  a 
Norman  horse,  with  his  huge,  rough  collar,  echo- 
ing, as  it  were,  the  natural  form  of  the  other 
beast.  And  here  are  twisted  serpents  ;.  and  stately 
swans,    with     answering     curves    in     their    bowed 

13* 


298   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

necks,  as  if  they  had  snake's  blood  under  their 
white  feathers ;  and  grave,  high-shouldered  herons, 
standing  on  one  foot  like  cripples,  and  looking  at 
life  round  them  with  the  cold  stare  of  monu- 
mental effigies.  —  A  very  odd  page  indeed  !  Not 
a  creature  in  it  without  a  curve  or  a  twist,  and 
not  one  of  them  a  mean  figure  to  look  at.  You 
can  make  your  own  comment;  I  am  fanciful,  you 
know.  I  believe  she  is  trying  to  idealize  what  we 
vulgarly  call  deformity,  which  she  strives  to  look 
at  in  the  light  of  one  of  Nature's  eccentric  curves, 
belonging  to  her  system  of  beauty,  as  the  hyper- 
bola and  parabola  belong  to  the  conic  sections, 
though  we  cannot  see  them  as  symmetrical  and 
entire  figures,  like  the  circle  and  ellipse.  At  any 
rate,  I  cannot  help  referring  this  paradise  of 
twisted  spines  to  some  idea  floating  in  her  head 
connected  with  her  friend  whom  Nature  has 
warped  in  the  moulding.  —  That  is  nothing  to 
another  transcendental  fancy  of  mine.  I  believe 
her  soul  thinks  itself  in  his  little  crooked  body 
at  times,  —  if  it  does  not  really  get  freed  or  half 
freed  from  her  own.  Did  you  ever  see  a  case  of 
catalepsy?  You  know  what  I  mean,  —  transient 
loss  of  sense,  will,  and  motion ;  body  and  limbs 
taking  any  position  in  which  they  are  put,  as  if 
they  belonged  to  a  lay-figure.  She  had  been  talk- 
ing with  him  and  listening  to  him  one  day  when 
he   boarders   moved   from   the   table    nearly  all   at 


Till-    PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.       299 

once.  But  she  sat  as  before,  her  cheek  resting  on 
her  hand,  her  amber  eyes  wide  open  and  still.  I 
went  to  her,  —  she  was  breathing  as  usual,  and 
her  heart  was  beating  naturally  enough,  —  but  she 
did  not  answer.  I  bent  her  arm;  it  was  as  plastic 
as  softened  wax,  and  kept  the  place  I  gave  it.  — 
This  will  never  do,  though,  —  and  I  sprinkled  a 
few  drops  of  water  on  her  forehead.  She  started 
and  looked  round.  —  I  have  been  in  a  dream ,  — 
she  said ;  —  I  feel  as  if  all  my  strength  were  in 
this  arm  ;  —  give  me  your  hand  !  —  She  took  my 
right  hand  in  her  left,  which  looked  soft  and  white 
enough,  but  —  Good  Heaven !  I  believe  she  will 
crack  my  bones !  All  the  nervous  power  in  her 
body  must  have  flashed  through  those  muscles ; 
as  when  a  crazy  lady  snaps  her  iron  window-bars, 
—  she  who  could  hardly  glove  herself  when  in  her 
common  health.  Iris  turned  pale,  and  the  tears 
came  to  her  eyes ;  —  she  saw  she  had  given  pain. 
Then  she  trembled,  and  might  have  fallen  but  for 
me;  —  the  poor  little  soul  had  been  in  one  of 
those  trances  that  belong  to  the  spiritual  pathol- 
ogy of  higher  natures,  mostly  those  of  women. 

To  come  back  to  this  wondrous  book  of  Iris. 
Two  pages  faced  each  other  which  I  took  for 
symbolical  expressions  of  two  states  of  mind. 
On  the  left  hand,  a  bright  blue  sky  washed  over 
the  page,  specked  with  a  single  bird.  No  trace 
of   earth,  but    still   the  winged   creature   seemed  to 


300       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

be  soaring  upward  and  upward.  Facing  it,  one 
of  those  black  dungeons  such  as  Piranesi  alone 
of  all  men  has  pictured.  I  am  sure  she  must 
have  seen  those  awful  prisons  of  his,  out  of  which 
the  Opium-Eater  got  his  nightmare  vision,  de- 
scribed by  another  as  "  cemeteries  of  departed 
greatness,  where  monstrous  and  forbidden  things 
are  crawling  and  twining  their  slimy  convolutions 
among  mouldering  bones,  broken  sculpture,  and 
mutilated  inscriptions."  Such  a  black  dungeon 
faced  the  page  that  held  the  blue  sky  and  the 
single  bird;  at  the  bottom  of  it  something  was 
coiled,  —  what,  and  whether  meant  for  dead  or 
alive,  my  eyes  could  not  make  out. 

I  told  you  the  young  girl's  soul  was  in  this 
book.  As  I  turned  over  the  last  leaves  I  could 
not  help  starting.  There  were  all  sorts  of  faces 
among  the  arabesques  which  laughed  and  scowled 
in  the  borders  that  ran  round  the  pages.  They 
had  mostly  the  outline  of  childish  or  womanly  or 
manly  beauty,  without  very  distinct  individuality. 
But  at  last  it  seemed  to  me  that  some  of  them 
were  taking  on  a  look  not  wholly  unfamiliar  to 
me;  there  were  features  that  did  not  seem  new. — 
Can  it  be  so  ?  Was  there  ever  such  innocence 
in  a  creature  so  full  of  life  ?  She  tells  her  heart's 
secrets  as  a  three-years-old  child  betrays  itself 
without  need  of  being  questioned !  This  was  no 
common    miss,  such    as    are    turned  out   in    scores 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       301 

from  the  young-lady-factories,  with  parchments 
warranting  them  accomplished  and  virtuous,  —  in 
case  anybody  should  question  the  fact.  I  began 
to  understand  her ;  —  and  what  is  so  charm- 
ing as  to  read  the  secret  of  a  real  femme  incom- 
prise?  —  for  such  there  are,  though  they  are  not 
the  ones  who  think  themselves  uncomprehended 
women. 

Poets  are  never  young,  in  one  sense.  Their 
delicate  ear  hears  the  far-off  whispers  of  eternity, 
which  coarser  souls  must  travel  towards  for  scores 
of  years  before  their  dull  sense  is  touched  by 
them.  A  moment's  insight  is  sometimes  worth  a 
life's  experience.  I  have  frequently  seen  children, 
long  exercised  by  pain  and  exhaustion,  whose 
features  had  a  strange  look  of  advanced  age. 
Too  often  one  meets  such  in  our  charitable  insti- 
tutions. Their  faces  are  saddened  and  wrinkled, 
as  if  their  few  summers  were  threescore  years 
and  ten. 

And  so,  many  youthful  poets  have  written  as 
if  their  hearts  were  old  before  their  time;  their 
pensive  morning  twilight  has  been  as  cool  and 
saddening  as  that  of  evening  in  more  common 
lives.  The  profound  melancholy  of  those  lines  of 
Shelley, 

"I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child 
And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 
W  hieh  I  have  borne  and  yet  must  bear," 


302   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

came  from  a  heart,  as  he  says,  "  too  soon  grown 
old,"  —  at  twenty-six  years,  as  dull  people  count 
time,  even  when  they  talk  of  poets. 

I  know  enough  to  be  prepared  for  an  excep- 
tional nature,  —  only  this  gift  of  the  hand  in  ren- 
dering every  thought  in  form  and  color,  as  well 
as  in  words,  gives  a  richness  to  this  young  girl's 
alphabet  of  feeling  and  imagery  that  takes  me  by 
surprise.  And  then  besides,  and  most  of  all,  I 
am    puzzled    at    her    sudden    and    seemingly    easy 

confidence    in  me.     Perhaps    I   owe   it  to  my 

Well,  no  matter!  How  one  must  love  the  editor 
who  first  calls  him  the  venerable  So-and-So ! 

1  locked  the  book  and  sighed    as    I   laid    it 

down.  The  world  is  always  ready  to  receive 
talent  with  open  arms.  Very  often  it  does  not 
know  what  to  do  with  genius.  Talent  is  a  docile 
creature.  It  bows  its  head  meekly  while  the  world 
slips  the  collar  over  it.  It  backs  into  the  shafts 
like  a  lamb.  It  draws  its  load  cheerfully,  and  is 
patient  of  the  bit  and  of  the  whip.  But  genius  is 
always  impatient  of  its  harness ;  its  wild  blood 
makes  it  hard  to  train. 

Talent  seems,  at  first,  in  one  sense,  higher  than 
genius,  —  namely,  that  it  is  more  uniformly  and 
absolutely  submitted  to  the  will,  and  therefore 
more  distinctly  human  in  its  character.  Genius, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  much  more  like  those  in- 
stincts which  govern  the  admirable   movements  of 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.      303 

the  lower  creatures,  and  therefore  seems  to  have 
something  of  the  lower  or  animal  character.  A 
goose  flies  by  a  chart  which  the  Royal  Geographi- 
cal Society  could  not  mend.  A  poet,  like  the 
goose,  sails  without  visible  landmarks  to  unex- 
plored regions  of  truth,  which  philosophy  has  yet 
to  lay  down  on  its  atlas.  The  philosopher  gets 
his  track  by  observation  ;  the  poet  trusts  to  his 
inner  sense,  and  makes  the  straighter  and  swifter 
line. 

And  yet,  to  look  at  it  in  another  light,  is  not 
even  the  lowest  instinct  more  truly  divine  than 
any  voluntary  human  act  done  by  the  suggestion 
of  reason?  What  is  a  bee's  architecture  but  an 
?/wobstructed  divine  thought  ?  —  what  is  a  builder's 
approximative  rule  but  an  obstructed  thought  of 
the  Creator,  a  mutilated  and  imperfect  copy  of 
some  absolute  rule  Divine  Wisdom  has  estab- 
lished, transmitted  through  a  human  soul  as  an 
image  through  clouded  glass  ? 

Talent  is  a  very  common  family-trait;  genius 
belongs  rather  to  individuals;  —  just  as  you  find 
one  giant  or  one  dwarf  in  a  family,  but  rarely  a 
whole  brood  of  either.  Talent  is  often  to  be 
envied,  and  genius  very  commonly  to  be  pitied. 
It  stands  twice  the  chance  of  the  other  of  dying 
in  a  hospital,  in  jail,  in  debt,  in  bad  repute.  It  is 
a  perpetual  insult  to  mediocrity ;  its  every  word 
is    a   trespass    against    somebody's  vested   ideas,  — 


304      THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

blasphemy  against  somebody's  O'wi,  or  intangible 
private  truth. 

What  is  the  use  of  my  weighing  out  antith- 
eses in  this  way,  like  a  rhetorical  grocer  ?  —  You 
know  twenty  men  of  talent,  who  are  making  their 
way  in  the  world;  you  may,  perhaps,  know  one 
man  of  genius,  and  very  likely  do  not  want  to 
know  any  more.  For  a  divine  instinct,  such  as 
drives  the  goose  southward  and  the  poet  heaven- 
ward, is  a  hard  thing  to  manage,  and  proves  too 
strong  for  many  whom  it  possesses.  It  must  have 
been  a  terrible  thing  to  have  a  friend  like  Chat- 
terton  or  Burns.  And  here  is  a  being  who  cer- 
tainly has  more  than  talent,  at  once  poet  and 
artist  in  tendency,  if  not  yet  fairly  developed,  —  a 
woman,  too  ;  —  and  genius  grafted  on  womanhood 
is  like  to  overgrow  it  and  break  its  stem,  as  you 
may  see  a  grafted  fruit-tree  spreading  over  the 
stock  which  cannot  keep  pace  with  its  evolution. 

I  think  now  you  know  something  of  this  young 
person.  She  wants  nothing  but  an  atmosphere  to 
expand  in.  Now  and  then  one  meets  with  a 
nature  for  which  our  hard,  practical  New  England 
life  is  obviously  utterly  incompetent.  It  comes 
up,  as  a  Southern  seed,  dropped  by  accident  in 
one  of  our  gardens,  finds  itself  trying  to  grow  and 
blow  into  flower  among  the  homely  roots  and  the 
hardy  shrubs  that  surround  it.  There  is  no  ques- 
tion   that    certain   persons    who    are    born    among 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       005 

us  find  themselves  many  degrees  too  far  north. 
Tropical  by  organization,  they  cannot  fight  for  life 
with  our  eastern  and  northwestern  breezes  without 
losing  the  color  and  fragrance  into  which  their 
lives  would  have  blossomed  in  the  latitude  of 
myrtles  and  oranges.  Strange  effects  are  produced 
by  suffering  any  living  thing  to  be  developed 
under  conditions  such  as  Nature  had  not  intended 
for  it.  A  French  physiologist  confined  some  tad- 
poles under  water  in  the  dark.  Removed  from  the 
natural  stimulus  of  light,  they  did  not  develop  legs 
and  arms  at  the  proper  period  of  their  growth, 
and  so  become  frogs ;  they  swelled  and  spread 
into  gigantic  tadpoles.  I  have  seen  a  hundred 
colossal  liuman  tadpoles,  —  overgrown  larvce  or  em- 
bryos ;  nay,  I  am  afraid  wTe  Protestants  should 
look  on  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  Holy 
Father's  one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  millions  as 
spiritual  larvce,  sculling  about  in  the  dark  by  the 
aid  of  their  caudal  extremities,  instead  of  stand- 
ing on  their  legs,  and  breathing  by  gills,  instead 
of  taking  the  free  air  of  heaven  into  the  lungs 
made  to  receive  it.  Of  course  we  never  try  to 
keep  young  souls  in  the  tadpole  state,  for  fear 
they  should  get  a  pair  or  two  of  legs  by-and-by 
and  jump  out  of  the  pool  where  they  have  been 
bred  and  fed  !     Never !     Never.     Never  ? 

to  go  back  to  our  plant.     You  may  know, 
that,  for  the  earlier  stages  of  development  of  almost 


306       THE  PROFESSOE   AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

any  vegetable,  you  only  want  air,  water,  light,  and 
warmth.  But  by-and-by,  if  it  is  to  have  special 
complex  principles  as  a  part  of  its  organization, 
they  must  be  supplied  by  the  soil ;  —  your  pears 
will  crack,  if  the  root  of  the  tree  gets  no  iron, — 
your  asparagus-bed  wants  salt  as  much  as  you 
do.  Just  at  the  period  of  adolescence,  the  mind 
often  suddenly  begins  to  come  into  flower  and  to 
set  its  fruit.  Then  it  is  that  many  young  natures, 
having  exhausted  the  spiritual  soil  round  them  of 
all  it  contains  of  the  elements  they  demand,  wither 
away,  undeveloped  and  uncolored,  unless  they  are 
transplanted. 

Pray  for  these  dear  young  souls!  This  is  the 
second  natural  birth ;  —  for  I  do  not  speak  of 
those  peculiar  religious  experiences  which  form  the 
point  of  transition  in  many  lives  between  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  general  relation  to  the  Divine  na- 
ture and  a  special  personal  relation.  The  litany 
should  count  a  prayer  for  them  in  the  list  of  its 
supplications ;  masses  should  be  said  for  them  as 
for  souls  in  purgatory ;  all  good  Christians  should 
remember  them  as  they  remember  those  in  peril 
through  travel  or  sickness  or  in  warfare. 

I  would  transport  this  child  to  Rome  at  once, 
if  I  had  my  will.  She  should  ripen  under  an 
Italian  sun.  She  should  walk  under  the  frescoed 
vaults  of  palaces,  until  her  colors  deepened  to 
those   of   Venetian   beauties,    and    her    forms   were 


, 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       307 

perfected  into  rivalry  with  the  Greek  marbles,  and 
the  east  wind  was  out  of  her  soul.  Has  she  not 
exhausted  this  lean  soil  of  the  elements  her  grow- 
ing nature  requires  ? 

I  do  not  know.  The  magnolia  grows  and 
comes  into  full  flower  on  Cape  Ann.  many  de- 
grees out  of  its  proper  region.  I  was  riding  once 
alonsr  that  delicious  road  between  the  hills  and 
the  sea,  when  we  passed  a  thicket  where  there 
seemed  to  be  a  chance  of  finding  it.  In  five 
minutes  I  had  fallen  on  the  trees  in  full  blossom, 
and  filled  my  arms  with  the  sweet,  resplendent 
flowers.  I  could  not  believe  I  was  in  our  cold, 
northern  Essex,  which,  in  the  dreary  season  when 
I  pass  its  slate-colored,  unpainted  farm-houses,  and 
huge,  square,  windy,  'squire-built  "  mansions,"  looks 
as  brown  and  unvegetating  as  an  old  rug  with  its 
patterns  all  trodden  out  and  the  colored  fringe 
worn  from  all  its  border. 

If  the  magnolia  can  bloom  in  northern  New 
England,  why  should  not  a  poet  or  a  painter 
come  to  his  full  growth  here  just  as  well?  Yes, 
but  if  the  gorgeous  tree-flower  is  rare,  and  only 
as  if  by  a  freak  of  Nature  springs  up  in  a  single 
spot  among  the  beeches  and  alders,  is  there  not 
as  much  reason  to  think  the  perfumed  flower  of 
imaginative  genius  will  find  it  hard  to  be  born 
and  harder  to  spread  its  leaves  in  the  clear,  cold 
atmosphere  of  our  ultra-temperate  zone  of  human- 
ity ? 


308       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Take  the  poet.  On  the  one  hand,  I  believe 
that  a  person  with  the  poetical  faculty  finds  ma- 
terial everywhere.  The  grandest  objects  of  sense 
and  thought  are  common  to  all  climates  and  civili- 
zations. The  sky,  the  woods,  the  waters,  the 
storms,  life,  death,  love,  the  hope  and  vision  of 
eternity,  —  these  are  images  that  write  themselves 
in  poetry  in  every  soul  which  has  anything  of  the 
divine  gift. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a 
lean,  impoverished  life,  in  distinction  from  a  rich 
and  suggestive  one.  Which  our  common  New 
England  life  might  be  considered,  I  will  not  de- 
cide. But  there  are  some  things  I  think  the  poet 
misses  in  our  western  Eden.  I  trust  it  is  not  un- 
patriotic to  mention  them  in  this  point  of  view, 
as  they  come  before  us  in  so  many  other   aspects. 

There  is  no  sufficient  flavor  of  humanity  in  the 
soil  out  of  which  we  grow.  At  Cantabridge,  near 
the  sea,  I  have  once  or  twice  picked  up  an  Indian 
arrowhead  in  a  fresh  furrow.  At  Canoe  Meadow, 
in  the  Berkshire  Mountains,  I  have  found  Indian 
arrowheads.  So  everywhere  Indian  arrowheads. 
Whether  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  years  old,  who 
knows  ?  who  cares  ?  There  is  no  history  to  the 
red  race,  —  there  is  hardly  an  individual  in  it;  — 
a  few  instincts  on  legs  and  holding  a  tomahawk, 
—  there  is  the  Indian  of  all  time.  The  story  of 
one  red  ant  is  the  story  of   all   red    ants.     So,  the 


THi:    PBOFESSOB   AT   TUE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       30'J 

poet,  in  trying  to  wing  his  way  back  through  the 
life  that  has  kindled,  flitted,  and  faded  along  our 
watercourses  and  on  our  southern  hillsides  for  un- 
known generations,  finds  nothing  to  breathe  or  fly 
in ;  he  meets 

"  A  vast  vacuity !  all  unawares, 
Fluttering  his  pennons  vain,  plumb  down  he  drops 
Ten  thousand  fathom  deep." 

But  think  of  the  Old  World,  — that  part  of  it 
which  is  the  seat  of  ancient  civilization !  The 
stakes  of  the  Britons'  stockades  are  still  standing 
in  the  bed  of  the  Thames.  The  ploughman  turns 
up  an  old  Saxon's  bones,  and  beneath  them  is  a 
tessellated  pavement  of  the  time  of  the  Caesars. 
In  Italy,  the  works  of  mediaeval  Art  seem  to  be 
of  yesterday,  —  Rome,  under  her  kings,  is  but  an 
intruding  new-comer,  as  we  contemplate  her  in 
the  shadow  of  the  Cyclopean  walls  of  Fiesole  or 
Volterra.  It  makes  a  man  human  to  live  on 
these  old  humanized  soils.  He  cannot  help  march- 
ing in  step  with  his  kind  in  the  rear  of  such  a 
procession.  They  say  a  dead  man's  hand  cures 
swellings,  if  laid  on  them.  There  is  nothing  like 
the  dead  cold  hand  of  the  Past  to  take  down  our 
tumid  egotism  and  lead  us  into  the  solemn  flow 
of  the  life  of  our  race.  Rousseau  came  out  of 
one  of  his  sad  self-torturing  fits,  as  he  cast  his 
eye  on  the  arches  of  the  old  Roman  aqueduct,  the 
Pont  du   Gard. 


310       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

I  am  far  from  denying  that  there  is  an  attrac- 
tion in  a  thriving  railroad  village.  The  new 
"  depot,"  the  smartly-painted  pine  houses,  the 
spacious  brick  hotel,  the  white  meeting-house,  and 
the  row  of  youthful  and  leggy  trees  before  it,  are 
exhilarating.  They  speak  of  progress,  and  the 
time  when  there  shall  be  a  city,  with  a  His 
Honor  the  Mayor,  in  the  place  of  their  trim  but 
transient  architectural  growths.  Pardon  me,  if  I 
prefer  the  pyramids.  They  seem  to  me  crystals 
formed  from  a  stronger  solution  of  humanity  than 
the  steeple  of  the  new  meeting-house.  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  the  Tiber  has  a  voice  for  me,  as 
it  whispers  to  the  piers  of  the  Pons  iElius, 
even  more  full  of  meaning  than  my  well-beloved 
Charles  eddying  round  the  piles  of  West  Boston 
Bridge. 

Then,  again,  we  Yankees  are  a  kind  of  gypsies, 
—  a  mechanical  and  migratory  race.  A  poet 
wants  a  home.  He  can  dispense  with  an  apple- 
parer  and  a  reaping-machine.  I  feel  this  more  for 
others  than  for  myself,  for  the  home  of  my  birth 
and  childhood  has  been  as  yet  exempted  from 
the  change  which  has  invaded  almost  everything 
around  it. 

Pardon    me    a    short    digression.      To  what 

small  things  our  memory  and  our  affections  attach 
themselves!  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  child, 
that  one  of  the  girls  planted  some    Star-of-Bethle- 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       311 

hem  bulbs  in  the  southwest  corner  of  our  front- 
yard.  Well,  I  left  the  paternal  roof  and  wandered 
in  other  lands,  and  learned  to  think  in  the  words 
of  strange  people.  But  after  many  years,  as  I 
looked  on  the  little  front-yard  again,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  there  used  to  be  some  Stars-of-Bethle- 
hem  in  the  southwest  corner.  The  grass  was  tall 
there,  and  the  blade  of  the  plant  is  very  much 
like  grass,  only  thicker  and  glossier.  Even  as 
Tully  parted  the  briers  and  brambles  when  he 
hunted  for  the  sphere-containing  cylinder  that 
marked  the  grave  of  Archimedes,  so  did  I  comb 
the  grass  with  my  fingers  for  my  monumental 
memorial-flower.  Nature  had  stored  my  keepsake 
tenderly  in  her  bosom  ;  the  glossy,  faintly  streaked 
blades  were  there ;  they  are  there  still,  though  they 
never  flower,  darkened  as  they  are  by  the  shade 
of  the  elms  and  rooted  in  the  matted  turf. 

Our  hearts  are  held  down  to  our  homes  by 
innumerable  fibres,  trivial  as  that  I  have  just  re- 
called ;  but  Gulliver  was  fixed  to  the  soil,  you 
remember,  by  pinning  his  head  a  hair  at  a  time. 
Even  a  stone  with  a  whitish  band  crossing  it,  be- 
longing to  the  pavement  of  the  back-yard,  insisted 
on  becoming  one  of  the  talismans  of  memory. 
This  intussusception  of  the  ideas  of  inanimate  ob- 
jects, and  their  faithful  storing  away  among  the 
sentiments,  are  curiously  prefigured  in  the  material 
structure  of  the  thinking  centre  itself.     In  the  very 


312       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

core  of  the  brain,  in  the  part  where  Des  Cartes 
placed  the  soul,  is  a  small  mineral  deposit,  con- 
sisting, as  I  have  seen  it  in  the  microscope,  of 
grape-like  masses  of  crystalline  matter. 

But  the  plants  that  come  up  every  year  in  the 
same  place,  like  the  Stars-of-Bethlehem,  of  all  the 
lesser  objects,  give  me  the  liveliest  home-feeling. 
Close  to  our  ancient  gambrel-roofed  house  is  the 
dwelling  of  pleasant  old  Neighbor  Walrus.  I  re- 
member the  sweet  honeysuckle  that  I  saw  in 
flower  against  the  wall  of  his  house  a  few  months 
ago,  as  long  as  I  remember  the  sky  and  stars. 
That  clump  of  peonies,  butting  their  purple  heads 
through  the  soil  every  spring  in  just  the  same 
circle,  and  by-and-by  unpacking  their  hard  balls 
of  buds  in  flowers  big  enough  to  make  a  double 
handful  of  leaves,  has  come  up  in  just  that  place, 
Neighbor  Walrus  tells  me,  for  more  years  than  I 
have  passed  on  this  planet.  It  is  a  rare  privilege 
in  our  nomadic  state  to  find  the  home  of  one's 
childhood  and  its  immediate  neighborhood  thus 
unchanged.  Many  born  poets,  I  am  afraid,  flower 
poorly  in  song,  or  not  at  all,  because  they  have 
been  too  often  transplanted. 

Then  a  good  many  of  our  race  are  very  hard 
and  unimaginative ;  —  their  voices  have  nothing 
caressing:  their  movements  are  as  of  machinery 
without  elasticity  or  oil.  I  wish  it  were  fair  to 
print    a    letter   a  young  girl,  about  the  age   of  our 


thi:  professob  at  nn:  bbeakfast-table.     313 

Iris,  wrote  a  short  time  since.  "  I  am  ***  ***  ***," 
she  says,  and  tells  her  whole  name  outright.     Ah! 

—  said  I,  when  I  read  that  first  frank  declara- 
tion, —  you  are  one  of  the  right  sort !  —  She  was. 
A  winged  creature  among  close-clipped  barn-door 
fowl.  How  tired  the  poor  girl  was  of  the  dull 
life  about  her,  —  the  old  woman's  "skeleton  hand" 
at  the  window  opposite,  drawing  her  curtains,  — 
';  Ma'am shooing"  away  the  hens," — the  vac- 
uous country  eyes  staring  at  her  as  only  country 
eves  can   stare,  —  a   routine    of  mechanical   duties, 

—  and  the  soul's  half-articulated  cry  for  sympathy, 
without  an  answer !  Yes,  —  pray  for  her,  and  for 
all  such !  Faith  often  cures  their  longings ;  but  it 
is  so  hard  to  give  a  soul  to  heaven  that  has  not 
first  been  trained  in  the  fullest  and  sweetest  hu- 
man affections!  Too  often  they  fling  their  hearts 
away  on  unworthy  objects.  Too  often  they  pine 
in  a  secret  discontent,  which  spreads  its  leaden 
cloud  over  the  morning  of  their  youth.  The  im- 
measurable distance  between  one  of  these  delicate 
natures  and  the  average  youths  among  whom  is 
like  to  be  her  only  choice  makes  one's  heart  ache. 
How  many  women  are  born  too  finely  organized 
in  sense  and  soul  for  the  highway  they  must  walk 
with  feet  unshod!  Life  is  adjusted  to  the  wants 
of  the  stronger  sex.  There  are  plenty  of  torrents 
to  be  crossed  in  its  journey ;  but  their  stepping- 
Mones    are    measured    by    the    stride    of    man,    and 

not  of  woman. 

u 


3U   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

Women  are  more  subject  than  men  to  atrophy 
of  the  heart.  So  says  the  great  medical  authority, 
Laennec.  Incurable  cases  of  this  kind  used  to 
find  their  hospitals  in  convents.  We  have  the 
disease  in  New  England,  —  but  not  the  hospitals. 
I  don't  like  to  think  of  it.  I  will  not  believe  our 
young  Iris  is  going  to  die  out  in  this  way.  Provi- 
dence will  find  her  some  great  happiness,  or  afflic- 
tion, or  duty,  —  and  which  would  be  best  for  her, 
I  cannot  tell.  One  thing  is  sure  :  the  interest  she 
takes  in  her  little  neighbor  is  getting  to  be  more 
engrossing  than  ever.  Something  is  the  matter 
with  him,  and  she  knows  it,  and  I  think  worries 
herself  about  it. 

I  wonder  sometimes  how  so  fragile  and  dis- 
torted a  frame  has  kept  the  fiery  spirit  that  in- 
habits it  so  long  its  tenant.  He  accounts  for  it 
in  his  own  way. 

The  air  of  the  Old  World  is  good  for   nothing, 

—  he  said,  one  day.  —  Used  up,  Sir,  —  breathed 
over  and  over  again.  You  must  come  to  this  side, 
Sir,  for  an  atmosphere  fit  to  breathe  nowadays. 
Did  not  worthy  Mr.  Higginson  say  that  a  breath 
of  New  England's  air  is  better  than  a  sup  of  Old 
England's  ale  ?  I  ought  to  have  died  when  I  was 
a  boy,  Sir  ;  but  I  couldn't  die  in  this    Boston    air, 

—  and  I  think  I  shall  have  to  go  to  New  York 
one  of  these  days,  when  it's  time  for  me  to  drop 
this    bundle,  —  or    to    New    Orleans,    where    they 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       315 

have  the  yellow  fever, —  or  to  Philadelphia,  where 
they  have  so  many  doctors. 

This  was  some  time  ago ;  but  of  late  he  has 
seemed,  as  I  have  before  said,  to  be  ailing.  An 
experienced  eye,  such  as  I  think  I  may  call  mine, 
can  tell  commonly  whether  a  man  is  going  to  die, 
or  nor,  long  before  he  or  his  friends  are  alarmed 
about  him.     I  don't  like  it. 

Iris  has  told  me  that  the  Scottish  gift  of  second- 
sight  runs  in  her  family,  and  that  she  is  afraid 
she  has  it.  Those  who  are  so  endowed  look  upon 
a  well  man  and  see  a  shroud  wrapt  about  him. 
According  to  the  degree  to  which  it  covers  him, 
his  death  will  be  near  or  more  remote.  It  is  an 
awful  faculty  ;  but  science  gives  one  too  much 
like  it.  Luckily  for  our  friends,  most  of  us  who 
have  the  scientific  second-sight  school  ourselves 
not  to  betray  our  knowledge  by  word  or  look. 

Day  by  day,  as  the  Little  Gentleman  comes  to 
the  table,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  shadow  of  some 
approaching  change  falls  darker  and  darker  over  his 
countenance.  Nature  is  struggling  with  something, 
and  I  am  afraid  she  is  under  in  the  wrestling- 
match.  You  do  not  care  much,  perhaps,  for  my 
particular  conjectures  as  to  the  nature  of  his  diffi- 
culty. I  should  say,  however,  from  the  sudden 
flashes  to  which  he  is  subject,  and  certain  other 
marks  which,  as  an  expert,  I  know  how  to  inter- 
pret, that  his    heart  was    in   trouble ;    but   then    he 


316       THE   PKOFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

presses  his  hand  to  the  right  side,  as  if  there  were 
the  centre  of  his  uneasiness. 

When  I  say  difficulty  about  the  heart,  I  do  not 
mean  any  of  those  sentimental  maladies  of  that 
organ  which  figure  more  largely  in  romances  than 
on  the  returns  which  furnish  our  Bills  of  Mortality. 
I  mean  some  actual  change  in  the  organ  itself, 
which  may  carry  him  off  by  slow  and  painful  de- 
grees, or  strike  him  down  with  one  huge  pang 
and  only  time  for  a  single  shriek,  —  as  when  the 
shot  broke  through  the  brave  Captain  Nolan's 
breast,  at  the  head  of  the  Light  Brigade  at  Bala- 
klava,  and  with  a  loud  cry  he  dropped  dead  from 
his   saddle. 

I  thought  it  only  fair  to  say  something  of  what 
I  apprehended  to  some  who  were  entitled  to  be 
warned.  The  landlady's  face  fell  when  I  men- 
tioned my  fears. 

Poor  man!  —  she  said. —  And  will  leave  the  best 
room  empty!  Hasn't  he  got  any  sisters  or  nieces 
or  anybody  to  see  to  his  things,  if  he  should  be 
took  away  ?  Such  a  sight  of  cases,  full  of  every- 
thing! Never  thought  of  his  failin'  so  suddin.  A 
complication  of  diseases,  she  expected.  Liver-com- 
plaint one  of  'em  ? 

After  this  first  involuntary  expression  of  the  too 
natural  selfish  feelings,  (which  we  must  not  judge 
very  harshly,  unless  we  happen  to  be  poor  widows 
ourselves,  with  children  to  keep  filled,  covered,  and 


J 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       317 

taught,  —  rents  high, — beef  eighteen  to  twenty- 
cents  per  pound,)  —  afrer  this  first  squeak  of  sel- 
fishness, followed  by  a  brief  movement  of  curi- 
osity, so  invariable  in  mature  females,  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  complaint  which  threatens  the  life 
of  a  friend  or  any  person  who  may  happen  to  be 
mentioned  as  ill,  —  the  worthy  soul's  better  feel- 
ings struggled  up  to  the  surface,  and  she  grieved 
for  the  doomed  invalid,  until  a  tear  or  two  came 
forth  and  found  their  way  down  a  channel  worn 
for  them  since  the  early  days  of  her  widowhood. 

Oh,  this  dreadful,  dreadful  business  of  being  the 
prophet  of  evil !  Of  all  the  trials  which  those  who 
take  charge  of  others'  health  and  lives  have  to 
undergo,  this  is  the  most  painful.  Tt  is  all  so 
plain  to  the  practised  eye !  —  and  there  is  the 
poor  wife,  the  doting  mother,  who  has  never  sus- 
pected anything,  or  at  least  has  clung  always  to 
the  hope  which  you  are  just  going  to  wrench 
away  from  her !  —  I  must  tell  Iris  that  I  think 
her  poor  friend  is  in  a  precarious  state.  She 
seems    nearer   to    him    than    anybody. 

I  did  tell  her.  Whatever  emotion  it  produced, 
she  kept  a  still  face,  except,  perhaps,  a  little 
trembling  of  the  lip. —  Could  I  be  certain  that 
there  was  any  mortal  complaint? —  Why,  no,  I 
could  not  be  certain;  but  it  looked  alarming  to 
me. —  He  -hall  have  some  of  my  life,  —  she  said. 

I  suppose  this  to  have  been  a  fancy  of  hers,  of 


318       THE   PKOFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

a  kind  of  magnetic  power  she  could  give  out ;  — 
at  any  rate,  I  cannot  help  thinking  she  wills  her 
strength  away  from  herself,  for  she  has  lost  vigor 
and  color  from  that  day.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  he  gained  the  force  she  lost;  but  this 
may  have  been  a  whim,  very  probably. 

One  day  she  came  suddenly  to  me,  looking 
deadly  pale.  Her  lips  moved,  as  if  she  were 
speaking ;  but  I  could  not  at  first  hear  a  word. 
Her  hair  looked  strangely,  as  if  lifting  itself,  and 
her  eyes  were  full  of  wild  light.  She  sunk  upon 
a  chair,  and  I  thought  was  falling  into  one  of  her 
trances.  Something  had  frozen  her  blood  with 
fear  ;  I  thought,  from  what  she  said,  half  audibly, 
that  she  believed  she  had  seen  a  shrouded  figure. 

That  night,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  I  was  sent 
for  to  see  the  Little  Gentleman,  who  was  taken 
suddenly  ill.  Bridget,  the  servant,  went  before  me 
with  a  light.  The  doors  were  both  unfastened, 
and  I  found  myself  ushered,  without  hindrance, 
into  the  dim  light  of  the  mysterious  apartment  I 
had  so  longed  to  enter. 

I  found  these  stanzas  in  the  young  girl's  book, 
among  many  others.  I  give  them  as  characteriz- 
ing the  tone  of  her  sadder  moments. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      319 


UNDER  THE  VIOLETS. 

Her  hands  are  cold ;  her  face  Is  white ; 
No  more  her  pulses  come  and  go  ; 

Her  eyes  are  shut  to  life  and  light;  — 
Fold  the  white  vesture,  snow  on  snow, 
And  lay  her  where  the  violets  blow. 

But  not  beneath  a  graven  stone, 
To  plead  for  tears  with  alien  eyes; 

A  slender  cross  of  wood  alone 

Shall  say,  that  here  a  maiden  lies 
In  peace  beneath  the  peaceful  skies. 

And  gray  old  trees  of  hugest  limb 

Shall  wheel  their  circling  shadows  round 

To  make  the  scorching  sunlight  dim 

That  drinks  the  greenness  from  the  ground, 
And  drop  their  dead  leaves  on  her  mound. 

When  o'er  their  boughs  the  squirrels  run, 
And  through  their  leaves  the  robins  call, 

And,  ripening  in  the  autumn  sun, 
The  acorns  and  the  chestnuts  fall, 
Doubt  not  that  she  will  heed  them  all. 

For  her  the  morning  choir  shall  sing 
Its  matins  from  the  branches  high, 

And  every  minstrel-voice  of  spring, 
That  trills  beneath  the  April  sky, 
Shall  greet  her  with  its  earliest  cry. 


320       THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

When,  turning  round  their  dial-track, 
Eastward  the  lengthening  shadows  pass, 

Her  little  mourners,  clad  in  black, 

The  crickets,  sliding  through  the  grass, 
Shall  pipe  for  her  an  evening  mass. 

At  last  the  rootlets  of  the  trees 

Shall  find  the  prison  where  she  lies, 

And  bear  the  buried  dust  they  seize 
In  leaves  and  blossoms  to  the  skies. 
So  may  the  soul  that  warmed  it  rise  ! 

If  any,  born  of  kindlier  blood, 

Should  ask.  What  maiden  lies  below  ? 

Say  only  this :  A  tender  bud, 

That  tried  to  blossom  in  the  snow, 
Lies  withered  where  the  violets  blow. 


XL 


You  will  know,  perhaps,  in  the  course  of  half 
an  hour's  reading,  what  has  been  haunting  my 
hours  of  sleep  and  waking  for  months.  I  cannot 
tell,  of  course,  whether  you  are  a  nervous  person 
or  not.  If,  however,  you  are  such  a  person,  —  if 
it  is  late  at  night,  —  if  all  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold have  gone  off  to  bed,  —  if  the  wind  is  shak- 
ing your  windows  as  if  a  human  hand  were  rat- 
tling the  sashes,  —  if  your  candle  or  lamp  is  low 
and  will   soon    burn    out,  —  let    me  advise   you  to 


THE   PBOFESSOB   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       321 

take  up  some  good  quiet  sleepy  volume,  or  at- 
tack the  "Critical  Notices"  of  the  last  Quarterly, 
and  leave  this  to  be  read  by  daylight,  with  cheer- 
ful voices  round,  and  people  near  by  who  would 
hear  you,  if  you  slid  from  your  chair  and  came 
down  in  a  lump  on  the  floor. 

I  do  not  say  that  your  heart  will  beat  as  mine 
did,  I  am  willing  to  confess,  when  I  entered  the 
dim  chamber.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  was 
sensitive  and  imaginative,  and  that  I  had  lain 
awake  with  thinking  what  were  the  strange  move- 
ments and  sounds  which  I  heard  late  at  night  in 
my  little  neighbor's  apartment  ?  It  had  come  to 
that  pass  that  I  was  truly  unable  to  separate 
what  I  had  really  heard  from  what  I  had  dreamed 
in  those  nightmares  to  which  I  have  been  subject, 
as  before  mentioned.  So,  when  I  walked  into  the 
room,  and  Bridget,  turning  back,  closed  the  door 
and  left  me  alone  with  its  tenant,  I  do  believe 
you  could  have  grated  a  nutmeg  on  my  skin, 
such  a  u  goose-flesh "  shiver  ran  over  it.  It  was 
not  fear,  but  what  I  call  nervousness,  —  unreason- 
ing, but  irresistible ;  as  when,  for  instance,  one 
looking  at  the  sun  going  down  says,  t;  I  will 
count  fifty  before  it  disappears  "  ;  and  as  he  goes 
on  and  it  becomes  doubtful  whether  he  will  reach 
the  number,  he  gets  strangely  flurried,  and  his 
imagination  pictures  life  and  death  and  heaven 
and  hell  as  thf  depending    on    the    comple- 

14* 


322       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

tion  or  non-completion  of  the  fifty  he  is  counting. 
Extreme  curiosity  will  excite  some  people  as 
much  as  fear,  or  what  resembles  fear,  acts  on 
some  other  less  impressible  natures. 

I  may  find  myself  in  the  midst  of  strange  facts 
in  this  little  conjurer's  room.  Or,  again,  there 
may  be  nothing  in  this  poor  invalid's  chamber  but 
some  old  furniture,  such  as  they  say  came  over  in 
the  Mayflower.  All  this  is  just  what  I  mean  to 
find  out  while  I  am  looking  at  the  Little  Gentle- 
man, who  has  suddenly  become  my  patient.  The 
simplest  things  turn  out  to  be  unfathomable  mys- 
teries ;  the  most  mysterious  appearances  prove  to 
be  the  most  commonplace  objects  in  disguise. 

I  wonder  whether  the  boys  that  live  in  Roxbury 
and  Dorchester  are  ever  moved  to  tears  or  filled 
with  silent  awe  as  they  look  upon  the  rocks  and 
fragments  of  "  puddingstone  "  abounding  in  those 
localities.  I  have  my  suspicions  that  those  boys 
"  heave  a  stone "  or  "  fire  a  brickbat,"  composed 
of  the  conglomerate  just  mentioned,  without  any 
more  tearful  or  philosophical  contemplations  than 
boys  of  less  favored  regions  expend  on  the  same 
performance.  Yet  a  lump  of  puddingstone  is  a 
thing  to  look  at,  to  think  about,  to  study  over,  to 
dream  upon,  to  go  crazy  with,  to  beat  one's 
brains  out  against.  Look  at  that  pebble  in  it. 
From  what  cliff  was  it  broken  ?  On  what  beach 
rolled   by   the    waves   of  what   ocean  ?     How   and 


Till:  PROFESSOB   A  I'  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      328 

when  imbedded  in  soft  ooze,  which  itself  became 
stone,  and  bv-and-bv  was  lifted  into  bald  summits 
and  steep  cliffs,  such  as  you  may  see  on  Meeting- 
house-Hill any  day  —  yes,  and  mark  the  scratches 
on  their  faces  left  when  the  boulder-carrying  gla- 
■a  planed  the  surface  of  the  continent  with  such 
rou^h  tools  that  the  storms  have  not  worn  the 
marks  out  of  it  with  all  the  polishing  of  ever  so 
many  thousand  years  ? 

Or  as  you  pass  a  roadside  ditch  or  pool  in 
spring-time,  take  from  it  any  bit  of  stick  or  straw 
which  has  lain  undisturbed  for  a  time.  Some 
little  worm-shaped  masses  of  clear  jelly  containing 
specks  are  fastened  to  the  stick  :  eggs  of  a  small 
snail-like  shell-fish.  One  of  these  specks  magnified 
proves  to  be  a  crystalline  sphere  with  an  opaque 
mass  in  its  centre.  And  while  you  are  looking, 
the  opaque  mass  begins  to  stir,  and  by-and-by 
slowly  to  turn  upon  its  axis  like  a  forming  planet, 
—  life  beginning  in  the  microcosm,  as  in  the  great 
worlds  of  the  firmament,  with  the  revolution  that 
turns  the  surface  in  ceaseless  round  to  the  source 
of  life  and  light. 

A  pebble  and  the  spawn  of  a  mollusk  !  Before 
you  have  solved  their  mysteries,  this  earth  where 
you  first  saw  them  may  be  a  vitrified  slag,  or  a 
vapor  diffused  through  the  planetary  spaces.  Mys- 
teries are  common  enough,  at  any  rate,  whatever 
the    boys    in     Roxbury    and    Dorchester    think    of 


324       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

"  brickbats "  and  the  spawn  of  creatures  that  live 
in  roadside  puddles. 

But  then  a  great  many  seeming  mysteries  are 
relatively  perfectly  plain,  when  we  can  get  at 
them  so  as  to  turn  them  over.  How  many  ghosts 
that  "  thick  men's  blood  with  cold "  prove  to  be 
shirts  hung  out  to  dry!  How  many  mermaids 
have  been  made  out  of  seals !  How  many  times 
have  horse-mackerels  been  taken  for  the  sea-ser- 
pent! 

Let  me  take  the  whole  matter  coolly,  while 

I  see  what  is  the  matter  with  the  patient.  That 
is  what  I  say  to  myself,  as  I  draw  a  chair  to  the 
bedside.  —  The  bed  is  an  old-fashioned,  dark  ma- 
hogany four-poster.  It  was  never  that  which  made 
the  noise  of  something  moving.  It  is  too  heavy 
to  be  pushed  about  the  room.  —  The  Little  Gentle- 
man was  sitting,  bolstered  up  by  pillows,  with  his 
hands  clasped  and  their  united  palms  resting 
on  the  back  of  the  head,  —  one  of  the  three  or 
four  positions  specially  affected  by  persons  whose 
breathing  is  difficult  from  disease  of  the  heart  or 
other  causes. 

Sit  down,  Sir,  —  he  said,  —  sit  down  !  I  have 
come  to  the  hill  Difficulty,  Sir,  and  am  fighting 
my  way  up.  —  His  speech  was  laborious  and  in- 
terrupted. 

Don't  talk,  —  I  said,  —  except  to  answer  my 
questions.  —  And    I   proceeded   to    "  prospect "    for 


THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       325 

the  marks  of  some  local  mischief,  which  you  know 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  these  attacks,  though  we 
do  not  always  find  it.  I  suppose  I  go  to  work 
pretty  much  like  other  professional  folks  of  my 
temperament.     Thus  :  — 

Wrist,  if  you  please.  —  I  was  on  his  right  side, 
but  he  presented  his  left  wrist,  crossing  it  over  the 
other. —  I  begin  to  count,  holding  watch  in  left 
hand.  One,  two,  three,  four, What  a  hand- 
some hand !  —  wonder  if  that  splendid  stone  is  a 
carbuncle.  —  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,   seven, 

Can't    see    much,    it   is    so    dark,    except    one 

white    object.  —  One,    two,    three,   four, Hang 

it!  eighty  or  ninety  in  the  minute,  I  guess. — 
Tongue,  if  you  please.  —  Tongue  is  put  out.  For- 
get to  look  at  it,  or,  rather,  to  take  any  particular 
notice  of  it ;  —  but  what  is  that  white  object,  with 
the  long  arm  stretching  up  as  if  pointing  to  the 
sky,  just  as  Vesalius  and  Spigelius  and  those  old 
fellows  used  to  put  their  skeletons  ?  I  don't  think 
anything  of  such  objects,  you  know ;  but  what 
should  he  have  it  in  his  chamber  for? — As  I  had 
found  his  pulse  irregular  and  intermittent,  I  took 
out  a  stethoscope,  which  is  a  pocket-spyglass  for 
looking  into  people's  chests  with  your  ears,  and 
laid  it  over  the  place  where  the  heart  beats.  I 
missed  the  usual  beat  of  the  organ. —  How  is 
this? — I  said,  —  where  is  your  heart  gone  to?  — 
He  took  the    stethoscope    and    shifted   it   across  to 


326       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

the  right  side ;  there  was  a  displacement  of  the 
organ.  —  I  am  ill-packed,  —  he  said  ;  —  there  was 
no  room  for  my  heart  in  its  place  as  it  is  with 
other  men.  —  God  help  him  ! 

It  is  hard  to  draw  the  line  between  scientific 
curiosity  and  the  desire  for  the  patient's  sake  to 
learn  all  the  details  of  his  condition.  I  must  look 
at  this  patient's  chest,  and  thump  it  and  listen  to 
it.     For  this  is   a   case    of   ectopia   cordis,  my  boy, 

—  displacement  of  the  heart ;  and  it  isn't  every 
day  you  get  a  chance  to  overhaul  such  an  inter- 
esting malformation.  And  so  I  managed  to  do 
my  duty  and  satisfy  my  curiosity  at  the  same 
time.  The  torso  was  slight  and  deformed;  the 
right  arm  attenuated,  —  the  left  full,  round,  and  of 
perfect  symmetry.  It  had  run  away  with  the  life 
of  the  other  limbs,  —  a  common  trick  enough  of 
Nature's,  as  I  told  you  before.  If  you  see  a  man 
with  legs  withered  from  childhood,  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  his  arms,  if  you  have  a  quarrel  with  him. 
He  has  the  strength  of  four  limbs  in  two  ;  and  if 
he  strikes  you,  it  is  an  arm-blow  plus  a  kick 
administered  from  the  shoulder  instead  of  the 
haunch,  where  it  should  have  started  from. 

Still  examining  him  as  a  patient,  I  kept  my 
eyes  about  me  to  search  all  parts  of  the  chamber, 
and  went   on    with   the   double    process,  as   before. 

—  Heart  hits  as  hard  as  a  fist,  —  bellows-sound 
over    mitral    valves    (professional   terms    you    need 


T1IK    I'UUFKSSnli    AT    THE    BKEAKF  AST-TABLE.       327 

not  attend  to).  —  What  the  deuse  is  that  long 
ease  for  ?  Got  his  witch  grandmother  mummied 
in  it?  And  three  big  mahogany  presses, —  hey? 
—  A  diabolical  suspicion  came  over  me  which  I 
had  had  once  before,  —  that  he  might  be  one  of 
our  modern  alchemists,  —  you  understand,  —  make 
gold,  you  know,  or  what  looks  like  it,  sometimes 
with  the  head  of  a  king  or  queen  or  of  Liberty 
to  embellish  one  side  of  the  piece. —  Don't  I  re- 
member hearing  him  shut  a  door  and  lock  it 
once  ?  What  do  you  think  was  kept  under  that 
lock  ?  Let's  have  another  look  at  his  hand,  to  see 
if  there  are  any  calluses.  One  can  tell  a  man's 
business,  if  it  is  a  handicraft,  very  often  by  just 
taking  a  look  at  his  open  hand.  —  Ah !  Four  cal- 
luses at  the  end  of  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand. 
None  on  those  of  the  left.  Ah,  ha!  What  do 
those  mean? 

All  this  seems,  longer  in  the  telling,  of  course, 
than  it  was  in  fact.  While  I  was  making  these 
observations  of  the  objects  around  me,  I  was  also 
forming  my  opinion  as  to  the  kind  of  case  with 
which  I  had  to  deal. 

There  are  three  wicks,  you  know,  to  the  lamp 
of  a  man's  life :  brain,  blood,  and  breath.  Press 
the  brain  a  little,  its  light  goes  out,  followed  by 
both  the  others.  Stop  the  heart  a  minute,  and 
out  go  all  three  of  the  wicks.  Choke  the  ail  out 
of   the    fangs,    and    presently   the    fluid    eeaeefi    to 


328       THE   PROFESSOR  AT    THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

supply  the  other  centres  of  flame,  and  all  is  soon 
stagnation,  cold,  and  darkness.  The  "tripod  of 
life"  a  French  physiologist  called  these  three 
organs.  It  is  all  clear  enough  which  leg  of  the 
tripod  is  going  to  break  down  here.  I  could  tell 
you  exactly  what  the  difficulty  is ;  —  which  would 
be  as  intelligible  and  amusing  as  a  watchmaker's 
description  of  a  diseased  timekeeper  to  a  plough- 
man. It  is  enough  to  say,  that  I  found  just  what 
I  expected  to,  and  that  I  think  this  attack  is  only 
the  prelude  of  more  serious  consequences,  —  which 
expression  means  you  very  well  know  what. 

And  now  the  secrets  of  this  life  hanging  on  a 
thread  must  surely  come  out.  If  I  have  made  a 
mystery  where  there  was  none,  my  suspicions  will 
be  shamed,  as  they  have  often  been  before.  If 
there  is  anything  strange,  my  visits  will  clear 
it  up. 

I  sat  an  hour  or  two  by  the  side  of  the  Little 
Gentleman's  bed,  after  giving  him  some  henbane 
to  quiet  his  brain,  and  some  foxglove,  which 
an  imaginative  French  professor  has  called  the 
"  Opium  of  the  Heart."  Under  their  influence  he 
gradually  fell  into  an  uneasy,  half-waking  slumber, 
the  body  fighting  hard  for  every  breath,  and  the 
mind  wandering  off  in  strange  fancies  and  old  rec- 
ollections, which  escaped  from  his  lips  in  broken 
sentences. 

The   last   of  'em,  —  he    said,  —  the    last   of 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BBEAEFAST-TABLE.       329 

'em  all,  —  thank  God !  And  the  grave  he  lies  in 
will  look  just  as  well  as  if  he  had  been  straight. 
Dig  it  deep,  old  Martin,  dig  it  deep,  —  and  let 
it  be  as  long  as  other  folks'  graves.  And  mind 
you  get  the  sods  flat,  old  man,  —  flat  as  ever  a 
straight-backed  young  fellow  was  laid  under.  And 
then,  with  a  good  tall  slab  at  the  head,  and  a 
footstone  six  foot  away  from  it,  it'll  look  just  as 
if  there  was  a  man  underneath. 

A  man !  Who  said  he  was  a  man  ?  No  more 
men  of  that  pattern  to  bear  his  name !  —  Used  to 
be  a  good-looking  set  enough. —  Where's  all  the 
manhood  and  womanhood  gone  to  since  his  great- 
grandfather was  the  strongest  man  that  sailed  out 
of  the  town  of  Boston,  and  poor  Leah  there  the 
handsomest  woman  in  Essex,  if  she  was  a  witch  ? 

Give    me     some     light,  —  he     said,  —  more 

light.  —  I  want  to  see  the  picture. 

He  had  started  either  from  a  dream  or  a  wan- 
dering reverie.  I  was  not  unwilling  to  have  more 
light  in  the  apartment,  and  presently  had  lighted 
an  astral  lamp  that  stood  on  a  table.  —  He  pointed 
to  a  portrait  hanging  against  the  wall.  —  Look  at 
her,  —  he  said,  —  look  at  her !  Wasn't  that  a 
pretty  neck  to  slip  a  hangman's  noose  over  ? 

The  portrait  was  of  a  young  woman,  something 
more  than  twenty  years  old,  perhaps.  There  were 
few  pictures  of  any  merit  painted  in  New  Eng- 
land before  the   time    of    Smibert,  and    I    am    at  a 


330       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

loss  to  know*  what  artist  could  have  taken  this 
half-length,  which  was  evidently  from  life.  It  was 
somewhat  stiff  and  flat,  but  the  grace  of  the  figure 
and  the  sweetness  of  the  expression  reminded  me 
of  the  angels  of  the  early  Florentine  painters. 
She  must  have  been  of  some  consideration,  for  she 
was  dressed  in  paduasoy  and  lace  with  hanging 
sleeves,  and  the  old  carved  frame  showed  how  the 
picture  had  been  prized  by  its  former  owners.  A 
proud  eye  she  had,  with  all  her  sweetness.  —  I 
think  it  was  that  which  hanged  her,  as  his  strong 
arm  hanged  Minister  George  Burroughs;  —  but  it 
may  have  been  a  little  mole  on  one  cheek,  which 
the  artist  had  just  hinted  as  a  beauty  rather  than 
a  deformity.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  nursling 
imps  addict  themselves,  after  the  fashion  of  young 
opossums,  to  these  little  excrescences.  "  Witch- 
marks  "  were  good  evidence  that  a  young  woman 
was  one  of  the  Devil's  wet-nurses  ;  —  I  should  like 
to  have  seen  you  make  fun  of  them  in  those  days! 
—  Then  she  had  a  brooch  in  her  bodice,  that 
might  have  been  taken  for  some  devilish  amulet 
or  other ;  and  she  wore  a  ring  upon  one  of  her 
fingers,  with  a  red  stone  in  it,  that  flamed  as  if 
the  painter  had  dipped  his  pencil  in  fire;  —  who 
knows  but  that  it  was  given  her  by  a  midnight 
suitor  fresh  from  that  fierce  element,  and  licensed 
for  a  season  to  leave  his  couch  of  flame  to  tempt 
the    unsanctified    hearts    of    earthly    maidens    and 


THE  PROFESSOR    A  Y   THE    BREAKF AST-TABLE.       331 

brand  their  cheeks  with  the  print  of  his  scorching 
kisses  ? 

She  and  I,  —  he  said,  as  he  looked  steadfastly 
at  the  canvas,  —  she  and  I  are  the  last  of  'em.  — 
She  will  stay,  and  I  shall  go.  They  never  painted 
me,  —  except  when  the  boys  used  to  make  pictures 
of  me  with  chalk  on  the  board-fences.  They 
said  the  doctors  would  want  my  skeleton  when  I 
was  dead. —  You  are  my  friend,  if  you  are  a 
doctor,  —  a'n't  you  ? 

I  just  gave  him  my  hand.  I  had  not  the  heart 
to  speak. 

I  want  to  lie  still,  —  he  said, —  after  I  am  put 
to  bed  upon  the  hill  yonder.  Can't  you  have  a 
great  stone  laid  over  me,  as  they  did  over  the 
first  settlers  in  the  old  burying-ground  at  Dorches- 
ter, so  as  to  keep  the  wolves  from  digging  them 
up?  I  never  slept  easy  over  the  sod; — I  should 
like  to  lie  quiet  under  it.  And  besides,  —  he  said, 
in  a  kind  of  scared  whisper,  —  I  don't  want  to 
have  my  bones  stared  at,  as  my  body  has  been. 
I  don't  doubt  I  was  a  remarkable  case ;  but,  for 
God's  sake,  oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  let  'em  make 
a  show  of  the  cage  I  have  been  shut  up  in  and 
looked  through  the  bars  of  for  so  many  years! 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  art  of  healing 
makes  men  hardhearted  and  indifferent  to  human 
suffering.  I  am  willing  to  own  that  there  is  often 
a  professional   hardness   in    surgeons,  just  as   there 


332       THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

is  in  theologians,  —  only  much  less  in  degree  than 
in  these  last.  It  does  not  commonly  improve  the 
sympathies  of  a  man  to  be  in  the  habit  of  thrust- 
ing knives  into  his  fellow-creatures  and  burning 
them  with  red-hot  irons,  any  more  than  it  im- 
proves them  to  hold  the  blinding-white  cautery  of 
Gehenna  by  its  cool  handle  and  score  and  crisp 
young  souls  with  it  until  they  are  scorched  into 
the  belief  of —  Transubstantiation  or  the  Immacu- 
late Conception.  And,  to  say  the  plain  truth,  I 
think  there  are  a  good  many  coarse  people  in 
both  callings.  A  delicate  nature  will  not  com- 
monly choose  a  pursuit  which  implies  the  habit- 
ual infliction  of  suffering,  so  readily  as  some  gentler 
office.  Yet,  while  I  am  writing  this  paragraph, 
there  passes  by  my  window,  on  his  daily  errand 
of  duty,  not  seeing  me,  though  I  catch  a  glimpse 
of  his  manly  features  through  the  oval  glass  of 
his  chaise,  as  he  rides  by,  a  surgeon  of  skill  and 
standing,  so  friendly,  so  modest,  so  tender-hearted 
in  all  his  ways,  that,  if  he  had  not  approved  him- 
self at  once  adroit  and  firm,  one  would  have  said 
he  was  of  too  kindly  a  mould  to  be  the  minister 
of  pain,  even  if  it  were  saving  pain. 

You  may  be  sure  that  some  men,  even  among 
those  who  have  chosen  the  task  of  pruning  their 
fellow-creatures,  grow  more  and  more  thoughtful 
and  truly  compassionate  in  the  midst  of  their 
cruel    experience.     They  become   less    nervous,  but 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  11 K  E  A  KF  AST-TABLE.  ooS 

more  sympathetic.  They  have  a  truer  sensibility 
for  others'  pain,  the  more  they  study  pain  and 
disease  in  the  light  of  science.  I  have  said  this 
without  claiming  any  special  growth  in  humanity 
for  myself,  though  I  do  hope  I  grow  tenderer  in 
my  feelings  as  I  grow  older.  At  any  rate,  this 
was  not  a  time  in  which  professional  habits  could 
keep  down  certain  instincts  of  older  date  than 
these. 

This  poor  little  man's  appeal  to  my  humanity 
against  the  supposed  rapacity  of  Science,  which 
he  feared  would  have  her  "  specimen,"  if  his  ghost 
should  walk  restlessly  a  thousand  years,  waiting 
for  his  bones  to  be  laid  in  the  dust,  touched  my 
heart.     But  I  felt  bound  to  speak  cheerily. 

We  won't   die   yet  awhile,  if  we    can    help 

it,  —  I  said,  —  and  I  trust  we  can  help  it.  But 
don't  be  afraid  ;  if  I  live  longest,  I  will  see  that 
your  resting-place  is  kept  sacred  till  the  dandelions 
and  buttercups  blow  over  you. 

He  seemed  to  have  got  his  wits  together  by 
this  time,  and  to  have  ti  vague  consciousness  that 
he  might  have  been  saying  more  than  he  meant 
for  anybody's  ears.  —  I  have  been  talking  a  little 
wild,  Sir,  eh  ?  —  he  said.  —  There  is  a  great  buz- 
zing in  my  head  with  those  drops  of  yours,  and  I 
doubt  if  my  tongue  has  not  been  a  little  looser 
than  I  would  have  it,  Sir.  But  I  don't  much 
want  to  live,  Sir ;  that's   the  truth    of  the    matter ; 


334   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

and  it  does  rather  please  me  to  think  that  fifty 
years  from  now  nobody  will  know  that  the  place 
where  I  lie  doesn't  hold  as  stout  and  straight  a 
man  as  the  best  of  'em  that  stretch  out  as  if  they 
were  proud  of  the  room  they  take.  You  may  get 
me  well,  if  you  can,  Sir,  if  you  think  it  worth 
while  to  try ;  but  I  tell  you  there  has  been  no 
time  for  this  many  a  year  when  the  smell  of  fresh 
earth  was  not  sweeter  to  me  than  all  the  flowers 
that  grow  out  of  it.  There's  no  anodyne  like 
your  good  clean  gravel,  Sir.  But  if  you  can  keep 
me  about  awhile,  and  it  amuses  you  to  try,  you 
may  show  your  skill  upon  me,  if  you  like.  There 
is  a  pleasure  or  two  that  I  love  the  daylight  for, 
and  I  think  the  night  is  not  far  off,  at  best.  —  I 
believe  I  shall  sleep  now;  you  may  leave  me,  and 
come,  if  you  like,  in  the  morning. 

Before  I  passed  out,  I  took  one  more  glance 
round  the  apartment.  The  beautiful  face  of  the 
portrait  looked  at  me,  as  portraits  often  do,  with 
a  frightful  kind  of  intelligence  in  its  eyes.  The 
drapery  fluttered  on  the  still  outstretched  arm  of 
the  tall  object  near  the  window;  —  a  crack  of  this 
was  open,  no  doubt,  and  some  breath  of  wind 
stirred  the  hanging  folds.  In  my  excited  state,  I 
seemed  to  see  something  ominous  in  that  arm 
pointing  to  the  heavens.  I  thought  of  the  figures 
in  the  Dance  of  Death  at  Basle,  and  that  other 
on  the  panels  of  the  covered   Bridge    at    Lucerne ; 


THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       335 

and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  grim  mask  who 
mingles  with  every  crowd  and  glides  over  every 
threshold  was  pointing  the  sick  man  to  his  far 
home,  and  would  soon  stretch  out  his  bony  hand 
and  lead  him  or  dras:  him  on  the  unmeasured 
journey  towards   it. 

The  fancy  had  possession  of  me,  and  I  shivered 
again  as  when  I  first  entered  the  chamber.  The 
picture  and  the  shrouded  shape ;  I  saw  only  these 
two  objects.  They  were  enough.  The  house  was 
deadly  still,  and  the  night- wind,  blowing  through 
an  open  window,  struck  me  as  from  a  field  of  ice, 
at  the  moment  I  passed  into  the  creaking  corridor. 
As  I  turned  into  the  common  passage,  a  white 
figure,  holding  a  lamp,  stood  full  before  me.  I 
thought  at  first  it  was  one  of  those  images  made 
to  stand  in  niches  and  hold  a  light  in  their  hands. 
But  the  illusion  was  momentary,  and  my  eyes 
speedily  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  bright 
flame  and  snowy  drapery  to  see  that  the  figure 
was  a  breathing  one.  It  was  Iris,  in  one  of  her 
statue-trances.  She  had  come  down,  whether  sleep- 
ing or  waking,  I  knew  not  at  first,  led  by  an  in- 
stinct that  told  her  she  was  wanted, — or,  possibly, 
having  overheard  and  interpreted  the  sound  of  our 
movements,  —  or,  it  may  be,  having  learned  from 
the  servant  that  there  was  trouble  which  might 
ask  for  a  woman's  hand.  I  sometimes  think 
women  have  a  sixth  sense,  which   tells    them    that 


336      THE   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

others,  whom  they  cannot  see  or  hear,  are  in  suf- 
fering. How  surely  we  find  them  at  the  bedside 
of  the  dying!  How  strongly  does  Nature  plead 
for  them,  that  we  should  draw  our  first  breath  in 
their  arms,  as  we  sigh  away  our  last  upon  their 
faithful  breasts ! 

With  white,  bare  feet,  her  hair  loosely  knotted, 
dressed  as  the  starlight  knew  her,  and  the  morn- 
ing when  she  rose  from  slumber,  save  that  she 
had  twisted  a  scarf  round  her  long  dress,  she 
stood  still  as  a  stone  before  me,  holding  in  one 
hand  a  lighted  coil  of  wax-taper,  and  in  the  other 
a  silver  goblet.  I  held  my  own  lamp  close  to 
heV,  as  if  she  had  been  a  figure  of  marble,  and 
she  did  not  stir.  There  was  no  breach  of  pro- 
priety then,  to  scare  the  Poor  Relation  with  and 
breed  scandal  out  of.  She  had  been  "  warned  in 
a  dream,"  doubtless  suggested  by  her  waking 
knowledge  and  the  sounds  which  had  reached  her 
exalted  sense.  There  was  nothing  more  natural 
than  that  she  should  have  risen  and  girdled  her 
waist,  and  lighted  her  taper,  and  found  the  silver 
goblet  with  "  Ex  dono  pupillorum "  on  it,  from 
which  she  had  taken  her  milk  and  possets  through 
all  her  childish  years,  and  so  gone  blindly  out  to 
find  her  place  at  the  bedside,  —  a  Sister  of  Charity 
without  the  cap  and  rosary ;  nay,  unknowing 
whither  her  feet  were  leading  her,  and  with  wide, 
blank    eyes    seeing    nothing    but    the    vision    that 


THE   PKOFESSOB  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       337 

beckoned  her  along.  —  Well,  I  must  wake  her  from 
her  slumber  or  trance.  —  I  called  her  name,  but  she 
did  not  heed  my  voice. 

The  Devil  put  it  into  my  head  that  I  would 
kiss  one  handsome  young  girl  before  I  died,  and 
now  was  my  chance.  She  never  would  know  it, 
and  I  should  carry  the  remembrance  of  it  with 
me  into  the  grave,  and  a  rose  perhaps  grow  out 
of  my  dust,  as  a  brier  did  out  of  Lord  Lovel's, 
in  memory  of  that  immortal  moment!  Would  it 
wake  her  from  her  trance  ?  and  would  she  see  me 
in  the  flush  of  my  stolen  triumph,  and  hate  and 
despise  me  ever  after  ?  Or  should  I  carry  off  my 
trophy  undetected,  and  always  from  that  time  say 
to  myself,  when  I  looked  upon  her  in  the  glory  of 
youth  and  the  splendor  of  beauty,  "  My  lips  have 
touched  those  roses  and  made  their  sweetness 
mine  forever"?  You  think  my  cheek  was  flushed, 
perhaps,  and  my  eyes  were  glittering  with  this 
midnight  flash  of  opportunity.  On  the  contrary,  I 
believe  I  was  pale,  very  pale,  and  I  know  that  I 
trembled.  Ah,  it  is  the  pale  passions  that  are  the 
fiercest,  —  it  is  the  violence  of  the  chill  that  gives 
the  measure  of  the  fever !  The  fighting-boy  of  our 
school  always  turned  white  when  he  went  out  to 
a  pitched  battle  with  the  bully  of  some  neighbor- 
ing village ;  but  we  knew  what  his  bloodless  cheeks 
meant,  —  the  blood  was  all  in  his  stout  heart,  — 
he  was  a  slight  boy,  and  there  was  not  enough 
10 


338       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

to  redden  his  face  and  fill  his  heart  both  at 
once. 

Perhaps  it  is  making  a  good  deal  of  a  slight 
matter,  to  tell  the  internal  conflicts  in  the  heart 
of  a  quiet  person  something  more  than  juvenile 
and  something  less  than  senile,  as  to  whether  he 
should  be  guilty  of  an  impropriety,  and,  if  he 
were,  whether  he  would  get  caught  in  his  indis- 
cretion. And  yet  the  memory  of  the  kiss  that 
Margaret  of  Scotland  gave  to  Alain  Chartier  has 
lasted  four  hundred  years,  and  put  it  into  the 
head  of  many  an  ill-favored  poet,  whether  Victoria, 
or  Eugenie  would  do  as  much  by  him,  if  she 
happened  to  pass  him  when  he  was  asleep.  And 
have  we  ever  forgotten  that  the  fresh  cheek  of  the 
young  John  Milton  tingled  under  the  lips  of  some 
high-born  Italian  beauty,  who,  I  believe,  did  not 
think  to  leave  her  card  by  the  side  of  the  slum- 
bering youth,  but  has  bequeathed  the  memory  of 
her  pretty  deed  to  all  coming  time?  The  sound 
of  a  kiss  is  not  so  loud  as  that  of  a  cannon,  but 
its  echo  lasts  a  deal  longer. 

There  is  one  disadvantage  which  the  man  of 
philosophical  habits  of  mind  suffers,  as  compared 
with  the  man  of  action.  While  he  is  taking  an 
enlarged  and  rational  view  of  the  matter  before 
him,  he  lets  his  chance  slip  through  his  fingers. 
Iris  woke  up,  of  her  own  accord,  before  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  what  I  was  going  to  do 
about  it. 


Till:   PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       330 

When  I  remember  how  charmingly  she  looked, 
I  don't  blame  myself  at  all  for  being  tempted ; 
but  if  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  yield  to  the  im- 
pulse, I  should  certainly  have  been  ashamed  to 
tell  of  it.  She  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it, 
finding  herself  there  alone,  in  such  guise,  and  me 
staring  at  her.  She  looked  down  at  her  white 
robe  and  bare  feet,  and  colored,  —  then  at  the 
goblet  she  held  in  her  hand,  —  then  at  the  taper; 
and  at  last  her  thoughts  seemed  to  clear  up. 

I  know  it  all,  —  she  said.  —  He  is  going  to  die, 
and  I  must  go  and  sit  by  him.  Nobody  will  care 
for  him  as  I  shall,  and  I  have  nobody  else  to 
care  for. 

I  assured  her  that  nothing  was  needed  for  him 
that  night  but  rest,  and  persuaded  her  that  the 
excitement  of  her  presence  could  only  do  harm. 
Let  him  sleep,  and  he  would  very  probably  awake 
better  in  the  morning.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
said,  for  I  spoke  with  authority;  and  the  young 
girl  glided  away  with  noiseless  step  and  sought 
her  own  chamber. 

The  tremor  passed  away  from  my  limbs,  and 
the  blood  began  to  burn  in  my  cheeks.  The 
beautiful  image  which  had  so  bewitched  me  faded 
gradually  from  my  imagination,  and  I  returned  to 
the  still  perplexing  mysteries  of  my  little  neigh- 
bor's chamber.  All  was  still  there  now.  No 
plaintive     sounds,    no     monotonous     murmurs,    no 


340       THE  PKOFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

shutting  of  windows  and  doors  at  strange  hours, 
as  if  something  or  somebody  were  coming  in  or 
going  out,  or  there  was  something  to  be  hidden 
in  those  dark  mahogany  presses.  Is  there  an  inner 
apartment  that  I  have  not  seen?  The  way  in 
which  the  house  is  built  might  admit  of  it.  As  I 
thought  it  over,  I  at  once  imagined  a  Bluebeard's 
chamber.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  the  narrow 
bookshelves  to  the  right  are  really  only  a  masked 
door,  such  as  we  remember  leading  to  the  private 
study  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished  townsmen, 
who  loved  to  steal  away  from  his  stately  library 
to  that  little  silent  cell.  If  this  were  lighted  from 
above,  a  person  or  persons  might  pass  their  days 
there  without  attracting  attention  from  the  house- 
hold, and  wander  where  they  pleased  at  night, — 
to  Copp's-Hill  burial-ground,  if  they  liked,  —  I 
said  to  myself,  laughing,  and  pulling  the  bed- 
clothes over  my  head.  There  is  no  logic  in  su- 
perstitious fancies  any  more  than  in  dreams.  A 
she-ghost  wouldn't  want  an  inner  chamber  to  her- 
self. A  live  woman,  with  a  valuable  soprano 
voice,  wouldn't  start  off  at  night  to  sprain  her 
ankles  over  the  old  graves  of  the  North-End 
cemetery. 

It  is  all  very  easy  for  you,  middle-aged  reader, 
sitting  over  this  page  in  the  broad  daylight,  to 
call  me  by  all  manner  of  asinine  and  anserine  un- 
christian names,  because  I  had   these  fancies   run- 


THE   PROFESSOR    AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       341 

ning  through  my  head.  I  don't  care  much  for 
your  abuse.  The  question  is  not,  what  it  is  rea- 
sonable for  a  man  to  think  about,  but  what  he 
actually  does  think  about,  in  the  dark,  and  when 
he  is  alone,  and  his  whole  body  seems  but  one 
great  nerve  of  hearing,  and  he  sees  the  phospho- 
rescent flashes  of  his  own  eyeballs  as  they  turn 
suddenly  in  the  direction  of  the  last  strange  noise, 
—  what  he  actually  does  think  about,  as  he  lies 
and  recalls  all  the  wild  stories  his  head  is  full  of, 
his  fancy  hinting  the  most  alarming  conjectures  to 
account  for  the  simplest  facts  about  him,  his  com- 
mon-sense laughing  them  to  scorn  the  next  minute, 
but  his  mind  still  returning  to  them,  under  one 
shape  or  another,  until  he  gets  very  nervous  and 
foolish,  and  remembers  how  pleasant  it  used  to  be 
to  have  his  mother  come  and  tuck  him  up  and 
go  and  sit  within  call,  so  that  she  could  hear  him 
at  any  minute,  if  he  got  very  much  scared  and 
wanted  her.     Old  babies  that  we  are ! 

Daylight  will  clear  up  all  that  lamp-light  has 
left  doubtful.  I  longed  for  the  morning  to  come, 
for  I  was  more  curious  than  ever.  So,  between 
my  fancies  and  anticipations,  I  had  but  a  poor 
night  of  it,  and  came  down  tired  to  the  breakfast- 
table.  My  visit  was  not  to  be  made  until  after 
this  morning  hour;  —  there  was  nothing  urgent,  so 
the  servant  was  ordered  to  tell  me. 

It    was    the    first    breakfast    at    which    the    hi^h 


342       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

chair  at  the  side  of  Iris  had  been  unoccupied. — 
You  might  jest  as  well  take  away  that  chair, — 
said  our  landlady,  —  he'll  never  want  it  again.  He 
acts  like  a  man  that's  struck  with  death,  'n'  I 
don't  believe  he'll  ever  come  out  of  his  chamber 
till  he's  laid  out  and  brought  down  a  corpse.  — 
These  good  women  do  put  things  so  plainly ! 
There  were  two  or  three  words  in  her  short  re- 
mark that  always  sober  people,  and  suggest  si- 
lence or  brief  moral  reflections. 

Life  is  dreadful  uncerting,  —  said  the    Poor 

Relation,  —  and  pulled  in  her  social  tentacles  to 
concentrate  her  thoughts  on  this  fact  of  human 
history. 

If  there  was  anything  a  fellah  could  do,  — 

said  the  young  man  John,  so  called,  —  a  fellah  'd 
like  the  chance  o'  helpin'  a  little  cripple  like  that. 
He  looks  as  if  he  couldn't  turn  over  any  handier 
than  a  turtle  that's  laid  on  his  back ;  and  I  guess 
there  a'n't  many  people  that  know  how  to  lift 
better  than  I  do.  Ask  him  if  he  don't  want  any 
watchers.  I  don't  mind  settin'  up  any  more  'n' 
a  cat-owl.     I  was  up  all  night  twice  last  month. 

[My  private  opinion  is,  that  there  was  no  small 
amount  of  punch  absorbed  on  those  two  occasions, 
which  I  think  I  heard  of  at  the  time ;  —  but  the 
offer  is  a  kind  one,  and  it  isn't  fair  to  question 
how  he  would  like  sitting  up  without  the  punch 
and    the    company    and   the    songs    and    smoking. 


11IK   PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       .'343 

He  means  what  he  says,  and  it  would  be  a  more 
considerable  achievement  for  him  to  sit  quietly  all 
night  by  a  sick  man  than  for  a  good  many  other 
people.  I  tell  you  this  odd  thing :  there  are  a 
good  many  persons,  who,  through  the  habit  of 
making  other  folks  uncomfortable,  by  finding  fault 
with  all  their  cheerful  enjoyments,  at  last  get  up  a 
kind  of  hostility  to  comfort  in  general,  even  in 
their  own  persons.  The  correlative  to  loving  our 
neighbors  as  ourselves  is  hating  onrselves  as  we 
hate  our  neighbors.  Look  at  old  misers ;  first 
they  starve  their  dependants,  and  then  themselves. 
So  I  think  it  more  for  a  lively  young  fellow  to 
be  ready  to  play  nurse  than  for  one  of  those  use- 
ful but  forlorn  martyrs  who  have  taken  a  spite 
against  themselves  and  love  to  gratify  it  by  fast- 
ing and  watching.] 

The  time  came  at  last  for  me  to  make  my 

visit.  I  found  Iris  sitting  by  the  Little  Gentle- 
man's pillow.  To  my  disappointment,  the  room 
was  darkened.  He  did  not  like  the  light,  and 
would  have  the  shutters  kept  nearly  closed.  It 
was  good  enough  for  me;  —  what  business  had  I 
to  be  indulging  my  curiosity,  when  I  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  exercise  such  skill  as  I  possessed  for 
the  benefit  of  my  patient?  There  was  not  much 
to  be  said  or  done  in  such  a  case ;  but  I  spoke 
encouragingly  as  I  could,  as  I  think  we  are 
always    bound    to    do.     He    did    not    seem    to    pay 


344      THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

any  very  anxious  attention,  but  the  poor  girl 
listened  as  if  her  own  life  and  more  than  her 
own  life  were  depending  on  the  words  I  uttered. 
She  followed  me  out  of  the  room,  when  I  had 
got  through  my  visit. 

How  long?  —  she  said. 

Uncertain.  Any  time  ;  to-day,  —  next  week,  — 
next  month,  —  I  answered.  —  One  of  those  cases 
where  the  issue  is  not  doubtful,  but  may  be  sud- 
den  or  slow. 

The  women  of  the  house  were  kind,  as  women 
always  are  in  trouble.  But  Iris  pretended  that 
nobody  could  spare  the  time  as  well  as  she,  and 
kept  her  place,  hour  after  hour,  until  the  landlady 
insisted  that  she'd  be  killin'  herself,  if  she  begun 
at  that  rate,  'n'  haf  to  give  up,  if  she  didn't 
want  to  be  clean  beat  out  in  less  'n  a  week. 

At  the  table  we  were  graver  than  common. 
The  high  chair  was  set  back  against  the  wall, 
and  a  gap  left  between  that  of  the  young  girl  and 
her  nearest  neighbor's  on  the  right.  But  the  next 
morning,  to  our  great  surprise,  that  good-looking 
young  Marylander  had  very  quietly  moved  his 
own  chair  to  the  vacant  place.  I  thought  he  was 
creeping  down  that  way,  but  I  was  not  prepared 
for  a  leap  spanning  such  a  tremendous  parenthesis 
of  boarders  as  this  change  of  position  included. 
There  was  no  denying  that  the  youth  and  maiden 
were   a   handsome    pair,  as   they  sat   side    by  side. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       845 

Bat  whatever  the  young  girl  may  have  thought 
of  her  new  neighbor,  she  never  seemed  for  a  mo- 
ment to  forget  the  poor  little  friend  who  had  been 
taken  from  her  side.  There  are  women,  and  even 
girls,  with  whom  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk.  One 
might  as  well  reason  with  a  bee  as  to  the  form 
of  his  cell,  or  with  an  oriole  as  to  the  construc- 
tion of  his  swinging  nest,  as  try  to  stir  these 
creatures  from  their  own  way  of  doing  their  own 
work.  It  was  not  a  question  with  Iris,  whether 
she  was  entitled  by  any  special  relation  or  by  the 
fitness  of  things  to  play  the  part  of  a  nurse.  She 
was  a  wilful  creature  that  must  have  her  way 
in  this  matter.  And  it  so  proved  that  it  called 
for  much  patience  and  long  endurance  to  carry 
through  the  duties,  say  rather  the  kind  offices,  the 
painful  pleasures,  that  she  had  chosen  as  her 
share  in  the  household  where  accident  had  thrown 
her.  She  had  that  genius  of  ministration  which  is 
the  special  province  of  certain  women,  marked 
even  among  their  helpful  sisters  by  a  soft,  low 
voice,  a  quiet  footfall,  a  light  hand,  a  cheering 
smile,  and  a  ready  self- surrender  to  the  objects  of 
their  care,  which  such  triiles  as  their  own  food, 
sleep,  or  habits  of  any  kind  never  presume  to 
interfere  with. 

Day  after  day,  and    too   often   through    the   long 

of   the    night,  she    kept    her    place    by  the 

pillow. —  That    girl  will    kill    herself  over    me,    Sir, 


346       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

—  said  the  poor  Little  Gentleman  to  me,  one 
day,  —  she  will  kill  herself,  Sir,  if  you  don't  call 
in  all  the  resources  of  your  art  to  get  me  off  as 
soon  as  may  be.  I  shall  wear  her  out,  Sir,  with 
sitting  in  this  close  chamber  and  watching  when 
she  ought  to  be  sleeping,  if  you  leave  me  to  the 
care  of  Nature  without  dosing  me. 

This  was  rather  strange  pleasantry,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. But  there  are  certain  persons  whose 
existence  is  so  out  of  parallel  with  the  larger  laws 
in  the  midst  of  which  it  is  moving,  that  life  be- 
comes to  them  as  death  and  death  as  life.  —  How 
am  I  getting  along  ?  —  he  said,  another  morning. 
He  lifted  his  shrivelled  hand,  with  the  death's-head 
ring  on  it,  and  looked  at  it  with  a  sad  sort  of 
complacency.  By  this  one  movement,  which  I 
have  seen  repeatedly  of  late,  I  know  that  his 
thoughts  have  gone  before  to  another  condition, 
and  that  he  is,  as  it  were,  looking  back  on  the 
infirmities  of  the  body  as  accidents  of  the  past. 
For,  when  he  was  well,  one  might  see  him  often 
looking  at  the  handsome  hand  with  the  naming 
jewel  on  one  of  its  fingers.  The  single  well- 
shaped  limb  was  the  source  of  that  pleasure  which 
in  some  form  or  other  Nature  almost  always 
grants  to  her  least  richly  endowed  children.  Hand- 
some hair,  eyes,  complexion,  feature,  form,  hand, 
foot,  pleasant  voice,  strength,  grace,  agility,  intelli- 
gence,—how    few    there    are    that   have    not  just 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       347 

enough  of  one  at  least  of  these  gifts  to  show 
them  that  the  good  Mother,  busy  with  her  mil- 
lions of  children,  has  not  quite  forgotten  them ! 
But  now  he  was  thinking  of  that  other  state, 
where,  free  from  all  mortal  impediments,  the  mem- 
ory of  his  sorrowful  burden  should  be  only  as 
that  of  the  case  he  has  shed  to  the  insect  whose 
"  deep-damasked  wings  "  beat  off  the  golden  dust 
of  the  lily-anthers,  as  he  flutters  in  the  ecstasy  of 
his  new  life  over  their  full-blown  summer  glories. 
No  human  being  can  rest  for  any  time  in  a 
state  of  equilibrium,  where  the  desire  to  live  and 
that  to  depart  just  balance  each  other.  If  one  has 
a  house,  which  he  has  lived  and  always  means  to 
live  in,  he  pleases  himself  with  the  thought  of  all 
the  conveniences  it  offers  him,  and  thinks  little  of 
its  wants  and  imperfections.  But  once  having 
made  up  his  mind  to  move  to  a  better,  every  in- 
commodity  starts  out  upon  him,  until  the  very 
ground-plan  of  it  seems  to  have  changed  in  his 
mind,  and  his  thoughts  and  affections,  each  one 
of  them  packing  up  its  little  bundle  of  circum- 
stances, have  quitted  their  several  chambers  and 
nooks  and  migrated  to  the  new  home,  long  before 
its  apartments  are  ready  to  receive  their  bodily 
tenant.  It  is  so  with  the  body.  Most  persons 
have  died  before  they  expire,  —  died  to  all  earthly 
longings,  so  that  the  last  breath  is  only,  as  it 
were,  the   locking   of  the   door   of  the   already  de- 


348       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

serted  mansion.  The  fact  of  the  tranquillity  with 
which  the  great  majority  of  dying  persons  await 
this  locking  of  those  gates  of  life  through  which 
its  airy  angels  have  been  going  and  coming,  from 
the  moment  of  the  first  cry,  is  familiar  to  those 
who  have  been  often  called  upon  to  witness  the 
last  period  of  life.  Almost  always  there  is  a  pre- 
paration made  by  Nature  for  unearthing  a  soul, 
just  as  on  the  smaller  scale  there  is  for  the  re- 
moval of  a  milk-tooth.  The  roots  which  hold 
human  life  to  earth  are  absorbed  before  it  is  lifted 
from  its  place.  Some  of  the  dying  are  weary  and 
want  rest,  the  idea  of  which  is  almost  inseparable 
in  the  universal  mind  from  death.  Some  are  in 
pain,  and  want  to  be  rid  of  it,  even  though  the 
anodyne  be  dropped,  as  in  the  legend,  from  the 
sword  of  the  Death- Angel.  Some  are  stupid, 
mercifully  narcotized  that  they  may  go  to  sleep 
without  long  tossing  about.  And  some  are  strong 
in  faith  and  hope,  so,  that,  as  they  draw  near  the 
next  world,  they  would  fain  hurry  toward  it,  as 
the  caravan  moves  faster  over  the  sands  when  the 
foremost  travellers  send  word  along  the  file  that 
water  is  in  sight.  Though  each  little  party  that 
follows  in  a  foot-track  of  its  own  will  have  it  that 
the  water  to  which  others  think  they  are  hasten- 
ing is  a  mirage,  not  the  less  has  it  been  true  in 
all  ages  and  for  human  beings  of  every  creed 
which   recognized   a   future,   that   those   who    have 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       349 

fallen  worn  out  by  their  march  through  the  Desert 
have  dreamed  at  least  of  a  River  of  Life,  and 
thought  they  heard  its  murmurs  as  they  lay 
dying. 

The  change  from  the  clinging  to  the  present  to 
the  welcoming  of  the  future  comes  very  soon,  for 
the  most  part,  after  all  hope  of  life  is  extin- 
guished, provided  this  be  left  in  good  degree  to 
Nature,  and  not  insolently  and  cruelly  forced 
upon  those  who  are  attacked  by  illness,  on  the 
strength  of  that  odious  foreknowledge  often  im- 
parted  by  science,  before  the  white  fruit  whose 
core  is  ashes,  and  which  we  call  death,  has  set 
beneath  the  pallid  and  drooping  flower  of  sick- 
ness. There  is  a  singular  sagacity  very  often 
shown  in  a  patient's  estimate  of  his  own  vital 
force.  His  physician  knows  the  state  of  his  ma- 
terial frame  well  enough,  perhaps, — that  this  or 
that  organ  is  more  or  less  impaired  or  disinte- 
grated ;  but  the  patient  has  a  sense  that  he  can 
hold  out  so  much  longer,  —  sometimes  that  he 
must  and  will  live  for  a  while,  though  by  the  logic 
of  disease  he  ought  to  die  without  any  delay. 

The  Little  Gentleman  continued  to  fail,  until  it 
became  plain  that  his  remaining  days  were  few* 
I  told  the  household  what  to  expect.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  kind  feeling  expressed  among  the 
hoarder.-,  in  various  modes,  according  to  their 
characters  and   style   of  sympathy.      The    landlady 


350       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

was  urgent  that  he  should  try  a  certain  nostrum 
which  had  saved  somebody's  life  in  jest  sech  a 
case.  The  Poor  Relation  wanted  me  to  carry,  as 
from  her,  a  copy  of  "  Allein's  Alarm,"  etc.  I  ob- 
jected to  the  title,  reminding  her  that  it  offended 
people  of  old,  so  that  more  than  twice  as  many 
of  the  book  were  sold  when  they  changed  the 
name  to  "  A  Sure  Guide  to  Heaven."  The  good 
old  gentleman  whom  I  have  mentioned  before  has 
come  to  the  time  of  life  when  many  old  men  cry 
easily,  and  forget  their  tears  as  children  do.  —  He 
was  a  worthy  gentleman,  —  he  said,  —  a  very 
worthy  gentleman,  but  unfortunate, — very  unfor- 
tunate. Sadly  deformed  about  the  spine  and  the 
feet.  Had  an  impression  that  the  late  Lord  Byron 
had  some  malformation  of  this  kind.  Had  heerd 
there  was  something  the  matter  with  the  ankle- 
j'ints  of  that  nobleman,  but  he  was  a  man  of 
talents.  This  gentleman  seemed  to  be  a  man  of 
talents.  Could  not  always  agree  with  his  state- 
ments,—  thought  he  was  a  little  over-partial  to 
this  city,  and  had  some  free  opinions ;  but  was 
sorry  to   lose   him,  —  and   if — there  was    anything 

—  he  —  could .     In    the    midst  of 

these  kind  expressions,  the  gentleman  with  the 
diamond,  the  Koh-i-noor,  as  we  called  him,  asked, 
in  a  very  unpleasant  sort  of  way,  how  the  old 
boy  was  likely  to  cut  up,  —  meaning  what  money 
our  friend  was  going  to  leave  behind. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       351 

The  young  fellow  John  spoke  np,  to  the  effect 
that  this  was  a  diabolish  snobby  question,  when  a 
man  was  dying  and  not  dead.  —  To  this  the  Koh- 
i-noor  replied,  by  asking  if  the  other  meant  to  in- 
sult him. —  Whereto  the  young  man  John  rejoined 
that  be  had  no  particul'r  intentions  one  way  or 
t'other. —  The  Koh-i-noor  then  suggested  the  young 
man's  stepping  out  into  the  yard,  that  he,  the 
speaker,  might  "  slap  his  chops."  —  Let  'em  alone, 
—  said  young  Maryland,  —  it'll  soon  be  over,  and 
they  won't  hurt  each  other  much.  —  So  they  went 
out 

The  Koh-i-noor  entertained  the  very  common 
idea,  that,  when  one  quarrels  with  another,  the 
simple  thing  to  do  is  to  knock  the  man  down,  and 
there  is  the  end  of  it.  Now  those  who  have 
watched  such  encounters  are  aware  of  two  things : 
first,  that  it  is  not  so  easy  to  knock  a  man  down 
as  it  is  to  talk  about  it;  secondly,  that,  if  you  do 
happen  to  knock  a  man  down,  there  is  a  very 
good  chance  that  he  will  be  angry,  and  get  up 
and  give  you  a  thrashing. 

So  the  Koh-i-noor  thought  he  would  begin,  as 
soon  as  they  got  into  the  yard,  by  knocking  his 
man  down,  and  with  this  intention  swung  his 
arm  round  after  the  fashion  of  rustics  and  those 
unskilled  in  the  noble  art,  expecting  the  young 
fellow  John  to  drop  when  his  fist,  having  com- 
pleted a  quarter  of   a  circle,  should   come    in    con- 


352      THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

tact  with  the  side  of  that  young  man's  head. 
Unfortunately  for  this  theory,  it  happens  that  a 
blow  struck  out  straight  is  as  much  shorter,  and 
therefore  as  much  quicker  than  the  rustic's  swing- 
ing blow,  as  the  radius  is  shorter  than  the  quarter 
of  a  circle.  The  mathematical  and  mechanical 
corollary  was,  that  the  Koh-i-noor  felt  something 
hard  bring  up  suddenly  against  his  right  eye, 
which  something  he  could  have  sworn  was  a  pav- 
ing-stone, judging  by  his  sensations  ;  and  as  this 
threw  his  person  somewhat  backwards,  and  the 
young  man  John  jerked  his  own  head  back  a  little, 
the  swinging  blow  had  nothing  to  stop  it;  and 
as  the  Jewel  staggered  between  the  hit  he  got  and 
the  blow  he  missed,  he  tripped  and  "went  to 
grass,"  so  far  as  the  back-yard  of  our  boarding- 
house  was  provided  with  that  vegetable.  It  was 
a  signal  illustration  of  that  fatal  mistake,  so  fre- 
quent in  young  and  ardent  natures  with  incon- 
spicuous calves  and  negative  pectorals,  that  they 
can  settle  most  little  quarrels  on  the  spot  by 
"knocking  the  man  down." 

We  are  in  the  habit  of  handling  our  faces  so 
carefully,  that  a  heavy  blow,  taking  effect  on  that 
portion  of  the  surface,  produces  a  most  unpleasant 
surprise,  which  is  accompanied  with  odd  sensa- 
tions, as  of  seeing  sparks,  and  a  kind  of  electrical 
or  ozone-like  odor,  half-sulphurous  in  character, 
and   which   has   given   rise   to    a   very   vulgar   and 


HIE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       353 

profane  threat  sometimes  heard  from  the  lips  of 
bullies.  A  person  not  used  to  pugilistic  gestures 
does  not  instantly  recover  from  this  surprise.  The 
Koh-i-noor,  exasperated  by  his  failure,  and  still  a 
little  confused  by  the  smart  hit  he  had  received, 
bur  furious,  and  confident  of  victory  over  a  young 
fellow  a  good  deal  lighter  than  himself,  made  a 
desperate  rush  to  bear  down  all  before  him  and 
finish  the  contest  at  once.  That  is  the  way  all 
angry  greenhorns  and  incompetent  persons  attempt 
to  settle  matters.  It  doesn't  do,  if  the  other  fellow 
is  only  cool,  moderately  quick,  and  has  a  very 
little  science.  It  didn't  do  this  time ;  for,  as  the 
assailant  rushed  in  with  his  arms  flying  every- 
where, like  the  vans  of  a  windmill,  he  ran  a 
prominent  feature  of  his  face  against  a  fist  which 
was  travelling  in  the  other  direction,  and  imme- 
diately after  struck  the  knuckles  of  the  young 
man's  other  fist  a  severe  blow  with  the  part  of 
his  person  known  as  the  epigastrium  to  one  branch 
of  science  and  the  bread-basket  to  another.  This 
second  round  closed  the  battle.  The  Koh-i-noor 
had  got  enough,  which  in  such  cases  is  more  than 
as  i^ood  as  a  feast.  The  young  fellow  asked  him 
if  he  was  satisfied,  and  held  out  his  hand.  But 
the  other  sulked,  and  muttered  something  about 
revenge.  —  Jest  as  y'  like,  —  said  the  young  man 
John. —  Clap  a  slice  o'  raw  beefsteak  on  to  that 
mouse   o'    yours    'n'    't'll    take    down    the    swellin' 


354       THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

(Mouse  is  a  technical  term  for  a  bluish,  oblong, 
rounded  elevation  occasioned  by  running  one's 
forehead  or  eyebrow  against  another's  knuckles.) 
The  young  fellow  was  particularly  pleased  that  he 
had  had  an  opportunity  of  trying  his  proficiency  in 
the  art  of  self-defence  without  the  gloves.  The  Koh- 
i-noor  did  not  favor  us  with  his  company  for  a 
day  or  two,  being  confined  to  his  chamber,  it  was 
said,  by  a  slight  feverish  attack.  He  was  chop- 
fallen  always  after  this,  and  got  negligent  in  his 
person.  The  impression  must  have  been  a  deep 
one ;  for  it  was  observed,  that,  when  he  came 
down  again,  his  moustache  and  whiskers  had 
turned  visibly  white  —  about  the  roots.  In  short,  it 
disgraced  him,  and  rendered  still  more  conspicuous 
a  tendency  to  drinking,  of  which  he  had  been  for 
some  time  suspected.  This,  and  the  disgust  which 
a  young  lady  naturally  feels  at  bearing  that  her 
lover  has  been  "  licked  by  a  fellah  not  half  his 
size,"  induced  the  landlady's  daughter  to  take  that 
decided  step  which  produced  a  change  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  her  career  I  may  hereafter  allude  to. 

I  never  thought  he  would  come  to  good,  when 
I  heard  him  attempting  to  sneer  at  an  unoffend- 
ing city  so  respectable  as  Boston.  After  a  man 
begins  to  attack  the  State- House,  when  he  gets 
bitter  about  the  Frog-Pond,  you  may  be  sure 
there  is  not  much  left  of  him.  Poor  Edgar  Poe 
died    in   the    hospital   soon   after    he   got  into   this 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       355 

way  of  talking ;  and  so  sure  as  you  find  an  un- 
ion unate  fellow  reduced  to  this  pass,  you  had 
better  begin  praying  for  him,  and  stop  lending 
him  money,  for  he  is  on  his  last  legs.  Remember 
poor  Edgar !  He  is  dead  and  gone :  but  the 
State-House  has  its  cupola  fresh-gilded,  and  the 
Frog-Pond  has  got  a  fountain  that  squirts  up  a 
hundred  feet  into  the  air  and  glorifies  that  humble 
sheet  with  a  fine  display  of  provincial  rainbows. 

I  cannot  fulfil  my  promise  in  this    number. 

I  expected  to  gratify  your  curiosity,  if  you  have 
become  at  all  interested  in  these  puzzles,  doubts, 
fancies,  whims,  or  whatever  you  choose  to  call 
them,  of  mine.  Next  month  you  shall  hear  all 
about  it. 

It  was    evening,    and    I  was    going   to   the 


sick-chamber.  As  I  paused  at  the  door  before 
entering,  I  heard  a  sweet  voice  singing.  It  was 
not  the  wild  melody  I  had  sometimes  heard  at 
midnight :  —  no,  this  was  the  voice  of  Iris,  and  I 
could  distinguish  every  word.  I  had  seen  the 
verses  in  her  book ;  the  melody  was  new  to  me. 
Let  me  finish  my  page  with  them. 


356       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


HYMN   OF  TRUST. 

O  Love  Divine,  that  stooped  to  share 
Our  sharpest  pang,  our  bitterest  tear, 

On  Thee  we  cast  each  earthborn  care, 
We  smile  at  pain  while  Thou  art  near ! 

Though  long  the  weary  way  we  tread, 
And  sorrow  crown  each  lingering  year, 

No  path  we  shun,  no  darkness  dread, 

Our  hearts  still  whispering,  Thou  art  near 

When  drooping  pleasure  turns  to  grief, 
And  trembling  faith  is  changed  to  fear, 

The  murmuring  wind,  the  quivering  leaf 
Shall  softly  tell  us,  Thou  art  near ! 

On  Thee  we  fling  our  burdening  woe, 

O  Love  Divine,  forever  dear, 
Content  to  suffer,  while  we  know, 

Living  and  dying,  Thou  art  near  ! 


XII. 


A  young  fellow,  born  of  good  stock,  in  one  of 
the  more  thoroughly  civilized  portions  of  these 
United  States  of  America,  bred  in  good  principles, 
inheriting  a  social  position  which  makes  him  at 
his    ease   everywhere,   means   sufficient   to    educate 


THi:   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       357 

him  thoroughly  without  taking  away  the  stimulus 
to  vigorous  exertion,  and  with  a  good  opening  in 
Bome  honorable  path  of  labor,  is  the  finest  sight 
our  private  satellite  has  had  the  opportunity  of 
inspecting  on  the  planet  to  which  she  belongs.  In 
some  respects  it  was  better  to  be  a  young  Greek. 
If  we  may  trust  the  old  marbles,  —  my  friend  with 
his  arm  stretched  over  my  head,  above  there,  (in 
plaster  of  Paris,)  or  the  discobolus,  whom  one 
may  see  at  the  principal  sculpture  gallery  of  this 
metropolis,  —  those  Greek  young  men  were  of 
supreme  beauty.  Their  close  curls,  their  elegantly 
set  heads,  column-like  necks,  straight  noses,  short, 
curled  lips,  firm  chins,  deep  chests,  light  flanks, 
large  muscles,  small  joints,  were  finer  than  any- 
thing we  ever  see.  It  may  well  be  questioned 
whether  the  human  shape  will  ever  present  itself 
again  in  a  race  of  such  perfect  symmetry.  But 
the  life  of  the  youthful  Greek  was  local,  not 
planetary,  like  that  of  the  young  American.  He 
had  a  string  of  legends,  in  place  of  our  Gospels. 
He  had  no  printed  books,  no  newspaper,  no  steam 
caravans,  no  forks,  no  soap,  none  of  the  thousand 
cheap  conveniences  which  have  become  matters 
of  necessity  to  our  modern  civilization.  Above  all 
things,  if  he  aspired  to  know  as  well  as  to  enjoy, 
he  found  knowledge  not  diffused  everywhere  about 
him,  so  that  a  day's  labor  would  buy  him  more 
wisdom    than    a    year    could    master,    but    held    in 


358       THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

private  hands,  hoarded  in  precious  manuscripts,  to 
be  sought  for  only  as  gold  is  sought  in  narrow 
fissures  and  in  the  beds  of  brawling  streams. 
Never,  since  man  came  into  this  atmosphere  of 
oxygen  and  azote,  was  there  anything  like  the 
condition  of  the  young  American  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Having  in  possession  or  in  pros- 
pect the  best  part  of  half  a  world,  with  all  its  cli- 
mates and  soils  to  choose  from ;  equipped  with 
wings  of  fire  and  smoke  that  fly  with  him  day 
and  night,  so  that  he  counts  his  journey  not  in 
miles,  but  in  degrees,  and  sees  the  seasons  change 
as  the  wild  fowl  sees  them  in  his  annual  flights ; 
with  huge  leviathans  always  ready  to  take  him  on 
their  broad  backs  and  push  behind  them  with 
their  pectoral  or  caudal  fins  the  waters  that  seam 
the  continent  or  separate  the  hemispheres ;  heir  of 
all  old  civilizations,  founder  of  that  new  one 
which,  if  all  the  prophecies  of  the  human  heart 
are  not  lies,  is  to  be  the  noblest,  as  it  is  the  last; 
isolated  in  space  from  the  races  that  are  governed 
by  dynasties  whose  divine  right  grows  out  of 
human  wrong,  yet  knit  into  the  most  absolute 
solidarity  with  mankind  of  all  times  and  places 
by  the  one  great  thought  he  inherits  as  his  na- 
tional birthright ;  free  to  form  and  express  his 
opinions  on  almost  every  subject,  and  assured  that 
he  will  soon  acquire  the  last  franchise  which  men 
withhold  from  man,  —  that  of  stating  the   laws  of 


TIIF.    PKOlT.SSnK    AT    THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       359 

his  spiritual  being  and  the  beliefs  he  accepts 
without  hindrance  except  from  clearer  views  of 
truth,  —  he  seems  to  want  nothing  for  a  large, 
wholesome,  noble,  beneficent  life.  In  fact,  the 
chief  danger  is  that  he  will  think  the  whole  planet 
is  made  for  him,  and  forget  that  there  are  some 
possibilities  left  in  the  debris  of  the  old-world  civil- 
ization which  deserve  a  certain  respectful  consid- 
eration at  his  hands. 

The  combing  and  clipping  of  this  shaggy  wild 
continent  are  in  some  measure  done  for  him  by 
those  who  have  gone  before.  Society  has  sub- 
divided itself  enough  to  have  a  place  for  every 
form  of  talent.  Thus,  if  a  man  show  the  least 
sign  of  ability  as  a  sculptor  or  a  painter,  for  in- 
stance, he  finds  the  means  of  education  and  a 
demand  for  his  services.  Even  a"  man  who  knows 
nothing  but  science  will  be  provided  for,  if  he 
does  not  think  it  necessary  to  hang  about  his 
birthplace  all  his  days,  —  which  is  a  most  un- 
American  weakness.  The  apron-strings  of  an 
American  mother  are  made  of  India-rubber.  Her 
boy  belongs  where  he  is  wanted  ;  and  that  young 
Marylander  of  ours  spoke  for  all  our  young  men, 
when  he  said  that  his  home  was  wherever  the 
stars  and  -Tripes  blew  over  his  head. 

And  that  leads  me  to  say  a  few  words  of  this 
young  gentleman,  who  made  that  audacious  move- 
ment   lately  which   I  chronicled   in    my  last  record, 


360   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

— jumping  over  the  seats  of  I  don't  know  how 
many  boarders  to  put  himself  in  the  place  which 
the  Little  Gentleman's  absence  had  left  vacant  at 
the  side  of  Iris.  When  a  young  man  is  found 
habitually  at  the  side  of  any  one  given  young 
lady,  —  when  he  lingers  where  she  stays,  and 
hastens  when  she  leaves,  —  when  his  eyes  follow 
her  as  she  moves,  and  rest  upon  her  when  she  is 
still,  —  when  he  begins  to  grow  a  little  timid,  he 
who  was  so  bold,  and  a  little  pensive,  he  who 
was  so   gay,  whenever    accident  finds   them    alone, 

—  when  he  thinks  very  often  of  the  given  young 
lady,  and  names  her  very  seldom, 

What  do  you  say  about  it,  my  charming  young 
expert  in  that  sweet  science  in  which,  perhaps,  a 
long  experience  is  not  the  first  of  qualifications  ? 

But    we    don't   know    anything    about    this 

young  man,  except  that  he  is  good-looking,  and 
somewhat  high-spirited,  and  strong-limbed,  and 
has  a  generous  style  of  nature,  —  all  very  promis- 
ing, but  by  no  means  proving  that  he  is  a  proper 
lover  for  Iris,  whose  heart  we  turned  inside  out 
when  we  opened  that  sealed  book  of  hers. 

Ah,  my  dear  young  friend!    When  your  mamma 

—  then,  if  you  will  believe  it,  a  very  slight  young 
lady,  with  very  pretty  hair  and  figure  —  came  and 
told    her*  mamma    that    your    papa    had — had  — 

asked No,    no,   no!    she   couldn't   say  it;   but 

her  mother  —  oh,  the  depth   of  maternal   sagacity  ! 


, 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       3G1 

—  guessed  it  all  without  another  word!  —  When 
your  mother,  I  say,  came  and  told  her  mother  she 
was  engaged,  and  your  grandmother  told  your 
grandfather,  how  much  did  they  know  of  the  inti- 
mate nature  of  the  young  gentleman  to  whom  she 
had  pledged  her  existence  ?  I  will  not  be  so  hard 
as  to  ask  how  much  your  respected  mamma  knew 
at  that  time  of  the  intimate  nature  of  your  re- 
spected papa,  though,  if  we  should  compare  a 
young  girl's  man-as-she-thinks-him  with  a  forty-sum- 
mered matron's  man-as-she-finds-him,  I  have  my 
doubts  as  to  whether  the  second  would  be  a  fac- 
simile of  the  first  in  most  cases. 

The  idea  that  in  this  world  each  young  person 
is  to  wait  until  he  or  she  finds  that  precise  coun- 
terpart who  alone  of  all  creation  was  meant  for 
him  or  her,  and  then  fall  instantly  in  love  with 
it,  is  pretty  enough,  only  it  is  not  Nature's  way. 
It  is  not  at  all  essential  that  all  pairs  of  human 
beings  should  be,  as  we  sometimes  say  of  partic- 
ular couples,  "  born  for  each  other."  Sometimes 
a  man  or  a  woman  is  made  a  great  deal  better 
and  happier  in  the  end  for  having  had  to  conquer 
the  faults  of  the  one  beloved,  and  make  the  fitness 
not  found  at  first,  by  gradual  assimilation.  There 
is  a  class  of  good  women  who  have  no  right  to 
marry  perfectly  good  men,  because  they  have  the 
power  of  saving  those  who  would  go  to  ruin  but 
for  the  guiding  providence  of  a  good  wife.     I  have 

16 


362        THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

known  many  such  cases.  It  is  the  most  moment- 
ous question  a  woman  is  ever  called  upon  to  de- 
cide, whether  the  faults  of  the  man  she  loves  are 
beyond  remedy  and  will  drag  her  down,  or  wheth- 
er she  is  competent  to  be  his  earthly  redeemer 
and  lift  him  to  her  own  level. 

A  person  of  genius  should  marry  a  person  of 
character.  Genius  does  not  herd  with  genius. 
The  musk-deer  and  the  civet-cat  are  never  found 
in  company.  They  don't  care  for  strange  scents, 
—  they  like  plain  animals  better  than  perfumed 
ones.  Nay,  if  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  no- 
tice, Nature  has  not  gifted  my  lady  musk-deer 
with  the  personal  peculiarity  by  which  her  lord  is 
so  widely  known. 

Now  when  genius  allies  itself  with  character, 
the  world  is  very  apt  to  think  character  has  the 
best  of  the  bargain.  A  brilliant  woman  marries  a 
plain,  manly  fellow,  with  a  simple  intellectual 
mechanism  ;  —  we  have  all  seen  such  cases.  The 
world  often  stares  a  good  deal  and  wonders.  She 
should  have  taken  that  other,  with  a  far  more 
complex  mental  machinery.  She  might  have  had 
a  watch  with  the  philosophical  compensation-bal- 
ance, with  the  metaphysical  index  which  can  split 
a  second  into  tenths,  with  the  musical  chime 
which  can  turn  every  quarter  of  an  hour  into 
melody.  She  has  chosen  a  plain  one,  that  keeps 
good  time,  and  that  is  all. 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       363 

Let  her  alone  !  She  knows  what  she  is  about. 
Genius  has  an  infinitely  deeper  reverence  for  char- 
acter than  character  can  have  for  genius.  To  be 
sure,  genius  gets  the  world's  praise,  because  its 
work  is  a  tangible  product,  to  be  bought,  or  had 
for  nothing.  It  bribes  the  common  voice  to  praise 
it  by  presents  of  speeches,  poems,  statues,  pictures, 
or  whatever  it  can  please  with.  Character  evolves 
its  best  products  for  home  consumption ;  but, 
mind  you,  it  takes  a  deal  more  to  feed  a  family 
for  thirty  years  than  to  make  a  holiday  feast  for 
our  neighbors  once  or  twice  in  our  lives.  You 
talk  of  the  fire  of  genius.  Many  a  blessed  wom- 
an, who  dies  unsung  and  unremembered,  has  given 
out  more  of  the  real  vital  heat  that  keeps  the  life 
in  human  souls,  without  a  spark  flitting  through 
her  humble  chimney  to  tell  the  world  about  it, 
than  would  set  a  dozen  theories  smoking,  or  a 
hundred  odes  simmering,  in  the  brains  of  so  many 
men  of  genius.  It  is  in  latent  caloric,  if  I  may 
borrow  a  philosophical  expression,  that  many  of 
the  noblest  hearts  give  out  the  life  that  warms 
them.  Cornelia's  lips  grow  white,  and  her  pulse 
hardly  warms  her  thin  fingers,  —  but  she  has 
melted  all  the  ice  out  of  the  hearts  of  those 
young  Gracchi,  and  her  lost  heat  is  in  the  blood 
of  her  youthful  heroes.  We  are  always  valuing 
the  soul's  temperature  by  the  thermometer  of  pub- 
lic   deed    or   word.      Yet    the    great    sun    himself, 


364      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

when  he  pours  his  noonday  beams  upon  some 
vast  hyaline  boulder,  rent  from  the  eternal  ice- 
quarries,  and  floating  toward  the  tropics,  never 
warms  it  a  fraction  above  the  thirty-two  degrees 
of  Fahrenheit  that  marked  the  moment  when  the 
first  drop  trickled  down  its  side. 

How  we  all  like  the  spirting  up  of  a  fountain, 
seemingly  against  the  law  that  makes  water  every- 
where slide,  roll,  leap,  tumble  headlong,  to  get  as 
low  as  the  earth  will  let  it !  That  is  genius.  But 
what  is  this  transient  upward  movement,  which 
gives  us  the  glitter  and  the  rainbow,  to  that  un- 
sleeping, all-present  force  of  gravity,  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever,  (if  the  universe  be 
eternal,)  —  the  great  outspread  hand  of  God  him- 
self, forcing  all  things  down  into  their  places,  and 
keeping  them  there?  Such,  in  smaller  proportion, 
is  the  force  of  character  to  the  fitful  movements 
of  genius,  as  they  are  or  have  been  linked  to  each 
other  in  many  a  household,  where  one  name  was 
historic,  and  the  other,  let  me  say  the  nobler, 
unknown,  save  by  some  faint  reflected  ray,  bor- 
rowed from  its  lustrous  companion. 

Oftentimes,  as  I  have  lain  swinging  on  the 
water,  in  the  swell  of  the  Chelsea  ferry-boats,  in 
that  long,  sharp-pointed,  black  cradle  in  which  I 
love  to  let  the  great  mother  rock  me,  I  have  seen 
a  tall  ship  glide  by  against  the  tide,  as  if  drawn 
by  some    invisible  tow-line,  with  a  hundred   strong 


THE   PROFESSOR    AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.      865 

arms  pulling  it.  Her  sails  hung  unfilled,  her 
streamers  were  drooping,  she  had  neither  side- 
wheel  nor  stern-wheel;  still  she  moved  on,  stately, 
in  serene  triumph,  as  if  with  her  own  life.  But  I 
knew  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  ship,  hidden 
beneath  the  great  hulk  that  swam  so  majestically, 
there  was  a  little  toiling  steam-tug,  with  heart  of 
fire  and  arms  of  iron,  that  was  hugging  it  close 
and  dragging  it  bravely  on ;  and  I  knew,  that,  if 
the  little  steam-tug:  untwined  her  arms  and  left  the 
tall  ship,  it  wrould  wallow  and  roll  about,  and 
drift  hither  and  thither,  and  go  off  with  the  re- 
fluent tide,  no  man  knows  whither.  And  so  I  have 
known  more  than  one  genius,  high-decked,  full- 
freighted,  wide-sailed,  gay-pennoned,  that,  but  for 
the  bare  toiling  arms,  and  brave,  warm,  beating 
heart  of  the  faithful  little  wife,  that  nestled  close 
in  his  shadow,  and  clung  to  him,  so  that  no  wind 
or  wave  could  part  them,  and  dragged  him  on 
against  all  the  tide  of  circumstance,  would  soon 
have  gone  down  the  stream  and  been  heard  of  no 
more.  —  No,  I  am  too  much  a  lover  of  genius,  I 
sometimes  think,  and  too  often  get  impatient  with 
dull  people,  so  that,  in  their  weak  talk,  where 
nothing  is  taken  for  granted,  I  look  forward  to 
some  future  possible  state  of  development,  when  a 
gesture  passing  between  a  beatified  human  soul 
and  an  archangel  shall  signify  as  much  as  the 
complete  history  of   a  planet,  from    the  time  when 


366   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

it  curdled  to  the  time  when  its  sun  was  burned 
out.  And  yet,  when  a  strong  brain  is  weighed 
with  a  true  heart,  it  seems  to  me  like  balancing 
a  bubble  against  a  wedge  of  gold. 

It   takes    a  very  true    man    to   be    a   fitting 

companion  for  a  woman  of  genius,  but  not  a  very 
great  one.  I  am  not  sure  that  she  will  not  em- 
broider her  ideal  better  on  a  plain  ground  than  on 
one  with  a  brilliant  pattern  already  worked  in  its 
texture.  But  as  the  very  essence  of  genius  "is 
truthfulness,  contact  with  realities,  (which  are  al- 
ways ideas  behind  shows  of  form  or  language,) 
nothing  is  so  contemptible  as  falsehood  and  pre- 
tence in  its  eyes.  Now  it  is  not  easy  to  find  a 
perfectly  true  woman,  and  it  is  very  hard  to  find 
a  perfectly  true  man.  And  a  woman  of  genius, 
who  has  the  sagacity  to  choose  such  a  one  as  her 
companion,  shows  more  of  the  divine  gift  in  so 
doing  than  in  her  finest  talk  or  her  most  brilliant 
work  of  letters  or  of  art. 

I  have  been  a  good  while  coming  at  a  secret, 
for  which  I  wished  to  prepare  you  before  telling 
it.  I  think  there  is  a  kindly  feeling  growing  up 
between  Iris  and  our  young  Marylander.  Not 
that  I  suppose  there  is  any  distinct  understanding 
between  them,  but  that  the  affinity  which  has 
drawn  him  from  the  remote  corner  where  he  sat 
to  the  side    of  the    young   girl    is    quietly  bringing 


THE   PBOFESSOB  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

their  two  natures  together.  Just  now  she  is  all 
given  up  to  another;  but  when  he  no  longer  calls 
upon  her  daily  thoughts  and  cares,  I  warn  you 
not  to  be  surprised,  if  this  bud  of  friendship  open 
like  the  evening  primrose,  with  a  sound  as  of  a 
sudden  stolen  kiss,  and  lo !  the  flower  of  full- 
blown love  lies  unfolded  before  you. 

And  now  the  days  had  come  for  our  little 
friend,  whose  whims  and  weaknesses  had  inter- 
ested us,  perhaps,  as  much  as  his  better  traits,  to 
make  ready  for  that  long  journey  which  is  easier 
to  the  cripple  than  to  the  strong  man,  and  on 
which  none  enters  so  willingly  as  he  who  has 
borne  the  life-long  load  of  infirmity  during  his 
earthly  pilgrimage.  At  this  point,  under  most  cir- 
cumstances, I  would  close  the  doors  and  draw  the 
veil  of  privacy  before  the  chamber  where  the  birth 
which  we  call  death,  out  of  life  into  the  unknown 
world,  is  working  its  mystery.  But  this  friend  of 
ours  stood  alone  in  the  world,  and,  as  the  last  act 
of  his  life  was  mainly  in  harmony  with  the  rest 
of  its  drama,  I  do  not  here  feel  the  force  of  the 
objection  commonly  lying  against  that  death-bed 
literature  which  forms  the  staple  of  a  certain  por- 
tion of  the  press.  Let  me  explain  what  I  mean, 
so  that  my  readers  may  think  for  themsHvc-  a 
little,  before  they  accuse  me  of  hasty  expr 

The  Roman  Catholic  Church  has  certain  formula' 


363   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

for  its  dying  children,  to  which  almost  all  of  them 
attach  the  greatest  importance.  There  is  hardly 
a  criminal  so  abandoned  that  he  is  not  anxious  to 
receive  the  "  consolations  of  religion "  in  his  last 
hours.  Even  if  he  be  senseless,  but  still  living,  I 
think  that  the  form  is  gone  through  with,  just  as 
baptism  is  administered  to  the  unconscious  new- 
born child.  Now  we  do  not  quarrel  with  these 
forms.  We  look  with  reverence  and  affection 
upon  all  symbols  which  give  peace  and  comfort 
to  our  fellow-creatures.  But  the  value  of  the 
new-born  child's  passive  consent  to  the  ceremony 
is  null,  as  testimony  to  the  truth  of  a  doctrine. 
The  automatic  closing  of  a  dying  man's  lips  on 
the  consecrated  wafer  proves  nothing  in  favor  of 
the  Real  Presence,  or  any  other  dogma.  And, 
speaking  generally,  the  evidence  of  dying  men  in 
favor  of  any  belief  is  to  be  received  with  great 
caution. 

They  commonly  tell  the  truth  about  their  pres- 
ent feelings,  no  doubt.  A  dying  man's  deposition 
about  anything  he  knows  is  good  evidence.  But 
it  is  of  much  less  consequence  what  a  man  thinks 
and  says  when  he  is  changed  by  pain,  weakness, 
apprehension,  than  what  he  thinks  when  he  is 
truly  and  wholly  himself.  Most  murderers  die  in 
a  very  pious  frame  of  mind,  expecting  to  go  to 
glory  at  once  ;  yet  no  man  believes  he  shall  meet 
a  larger  average  of  pirates  and   cut-throats   in   the 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       S69 

streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem  than  of  honest  folks 
that  died  in  their  beds. 

Unfortunately,  there  has  been  a  very  great  ten- 
dency to  make  capital  of  various  kinds  out  of 
dying  men's  speeches.  The  lies  that  have  been 
pat  into  their  mouths  for  this  purpose  are  endless. 
The  prime  minister,  whose  last  breath  was  spent 
in  scolding  his  nurse,  dies  with  a  magnificent 
apothegm  on  his  lips,  —  manufactured  by  a  re- 
porter. Addison  gets  up  a  tableau  and  utters  an 
admirable  sentiment,  —  or  somebody  makes  the 
posthumous  dying  epigram  for  him.  The  inco- 
herent babble  of  green  fields  is  translated  into  the 
language  of  stately  sentiment.  One  would  think, 
all  that  dying  men  had  to  do  was  to  say  the 
prettiest  thing  they  could, — to  make  their  rhetor- 
ical point,  —  and  then  bow  themselves  politely  out 
of  the  world. 

Worse  than  this  is  the  torturing  of  dying  people 
to  get  their  evidence  in  favor  of  this  or  that  favor- 
ite belief.  The  camp-followers  of  proselyting  sects 
have  come  in  at  the  close  of  every  life  where  they 
could  get  in,  to  strip  the  languishing  soul  of  its 
thoughts,  and  carry  them  off  as  spoils.  The  Ro- 
man Catholic  or  other  priest  who  insists  on  the 
reception  of  his  formula  means  kindly,  we  trust, 
and  very  commonly  succeeds  in  getting  the  ac- 
quiescence of  the  subject  of  his  spiritual  surgery. 
But  do    not   let    as    t;tke    the   testimony  of   people 


370       THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

who  are  in  the  worst  condition  to  form  opinions 
as  evidence  of  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  that 
which  they  accept.  A  lame  man's  opinion  of 
dancing  is  not  good  for  much.  A  poor  fellow 
who  can  neither  eat  nor  drink,  who  is  sleepless 
and  full  of  pains,  whose  flesh  has  wasted  from 
him,  whose  blood  is  like  water,  who  is  gasping 
for  breath,  is  not  in  a  condition  to  judge  fairly  of 
human  life,  which  in  all  its  main  adjustments  is 
intended  for  men  in  a  normal,  healthy  condition. 
It  is  a  remark  I  have  heard  from  the  wise  Patri- 
arch of  the  Medical  Profession  among  us,  that 
the  moral  condition  of  patients  with  disease  above 
the  great  breathing-muscle,  the  diaphragm,  is  much 
more  hopeful  than  that  of  patients  with  disease 
below  it,  in  the  digestive  organs.  Many  an  honest 
ignorant  man  has  given  us  pathology  when  he 
thought  he  was  giving  us  psychology.  With  this 
preliminary  caution  I  shall  proceed  to  the  story 
of  the  Little  Gentleman's  leaving  us. 

When  the  divinity-student  found  that  our  fel- 
low-boarder was  not  likely  to  remain  long  with 
us,  he,  being  a  young  man  of  tender  conscience 
and  kindly  nature,  was  not  a  little  exercised  on 
his  behalf.  It  was  undeniable  that  on  several 
occasions  the  Little  Gentleman  had  expressed 
himself  with  a  good  deal  of  freedom  on  a  class 
of  subjects  which,  according  to  the  divinity-stu- 
dent, he  had  no   right   to    form   an   opinion   upon. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       371 

He  therefore  considered  his  future  welfare  in  jeop- 
ardy. 

The  Muggletonian  sect  have  a  very  odd  way 
of  dealing  with  people.  If  I,  the  Professor,  will 
only  give  in  to  the  Muggletonian  doctrine,  there 
shall  be  no  question  through  all  that  persuasion 
that  I  am  competent  to  judge  of  that  doctrine  ; 
nay,  I  shall  be  quoted  as  evidence  of  its  truth, 
while  I  live,  and  cited,  after  I  am  dead,  as  testi- 
mony in  its  behalf;  but  if  I  utter  any  ever  so 
slight  Anti- Muggletonian  sentiment,  then  I  become 
incompetent  to  form  any  opinion  on  the  matter.  This, 
you  cannot  fail  to  observe,  is  exactly  the  way  the 
pseudo-sciences  go  to  work,  as  explained  in  my 
Lecture  on  Phrenology.  Now  I  hold  that  he 
whose  testimony  would  be  accepted  in  behalf  of 
the  Muggletonian  doctrine  has  a  right  to  be  heard 
against  it.  Whoso  offers  me  any  article  of  belief 
for  my  signature  implies  that  I  am  competent  to 
form  an  opinion  upon  it ;  and  if  my  positive  testi- 
mony in  its  favor  is  of  any  value,  then  my  nega- 
tive testimony  against  it  is  also  of  value. 

I  thought  my  young  friend's  attitude  was  a 
little  too  much  like  that  of  the  Muggletonians.  I 
also  remarked  a  singular  timidity  on  his  part  lest 
somebody  should  "  unsettle "  somebody's  faith,  — 
as  if  faith  did  not  require  exercise  as  much  as 
any  other  living  thing,  and  were  not  all  the  better 
for    a    shaking    up  now  and    then.     I    don't  mean 


372       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

that  it  would  be  fair  to  bother  Bridget,  the  wild 
Irish  girl,  or  Joice  Heth,  the  centenarian,  or  any- 
other  intellectual  non-combatant;  but  all  persons 
who  proclaim  a  belief  which  passes  judgment  on 
their  neighbors  must  be  ready  to  have  it  "  un- 
settled," that  is,  questioned,  at  all  times  and  by 
anybody,  —  just  as  those  who  set  up  bars  across  a 
thoroughfare  must  expect  to  have  them  taken 
down  by  every  one  who  wants  to  pass,  if  he  is 
strong  enough. 

Besides,  to  think  of  trying  to  water-proof  the 
American  mind  against  the  questions  that  Heaven 
rains  down  upon  it  shows  a  misapprehension  of 
our  new  conditions.  If  to  question  everything  be 
unlawful  and  dangerous,  we  had  better  undeclare 
our  independence  at  once  ;  for  what  the  Declara- 
tion means  is  the  right  to  question  everything, 
even  the  truth  of  its  own  fundamental  proposi- 
tion. 

The  old-world  order  of  things  is  an  arrangement 
of  locks  and  canals,  where  everything  depends  on 
keeping  the  gates  shut,  and  so  holding  the  upper 
waters  at  their  level;  but  the  system  under  which 
the  young  republican  American  is  born  trusts  the 
whole  unimpeded  tide  of  life  to  the  great  ele- 
mental influences,  as  the  vast  rivers  of  the  con- 
tinent settle  their  own  level  in  obedience  to  the 
laws  that  govern  the  planet  and  the  spheres  that 
surround  it. 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       373 

The  divinity-student  was  not  quite  up  to  the 
idea  of  the  commonwealth,  as  our  young  friend 
the  Marylander,  for  instance,  understood  it.  He 
could  not  get  rid  of  that  notion  of  private  prop- 
erty in  truth,  with  the  right  to  fence  it  in,  and 
put  up  a  sign-board,  thus:  — 

J^g^ALL    TRESPASSERS    ARE    WARNED    OFF    THESE 


He  took  the  young  Marylander  to  task  for  going 
to  the  Church  of  the  Galileans,  where  he  had 
several  times  accompanied  Iris  of  late. 

I  am  a  Churchman,  —  the  young  man  said,  — 
by  education  and  habit.  I  love  my  old  Church 
for  many  reasons,  but  most  of  all  because  I  think 
it  has  educated  me  out  of  its  own  forms  into  the 
spirit  of  its  highest  teachings.  I  think  I  belong 
to  the  "  Broad  Church,"  if  any  of  you  can  tell 
what  that  means. 

I  had  the  rashness  to  attempt  to  answer  the 
question  myself.  —  Some  say  the  Broad  Church 
means  the  collective  mass  of  good  people  of  all 
denominations.  Others  say  that  such  a  definition 
is  nonsense ;  that  a  church  is  an  organization, 
and  the  scattered  good  folks  are  no  organization 
at  all.  They  think  that  men  will  eventually  come 
together  on  the  basis  of  one  or  two  or  more  com- 
mon articles  of  belief,  and  form  a  great  unity. 
Do  they  see  what  this  amounts  to  ?     It  means  an 


374      THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

equal  division  of  intellect!  It  is  mental  agrarian- 
ism  !  a  thing  that  never  was  and  never  will  be, 
until  national  and  individual  idiosyncrasies  have 
ceased  to  exist.  The  man  of  thirty- nine  beliefs 
holds  the  man  of  one  belief  a  pauper;  he  is  not 
going  to  give  up  thirty-eight  of  them  for  the  sake 
of  fraternizing  with  the  other  in  the  temple  which 
bears  on  its  front,  "  Deo  erexit  Voltaire."  A 
church  is  a  garden,  I  have  heard  it  said,  and  the 
illustration  was  neatly  handled.  Yes,  and  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  a  broad  garden.  It  must  be 
fenced  in,  and  whatever  is  fenced  in  is  narrow. 
You  cannot  have  arctic  and  tropical  plants  grow- 
ing together  in  it,  except  by  the  forcing  system, 
which  is  a  mighty  narrow  piece  of  business.  You 
can't  make  a  village  or  a  parish  or  a  family 
think  alike,  yet  you  suppose  that  you  can  make  a 
world  pinch  its  beliefs  or  pad  them  to  a  single 
pattern !  Why,  the  very  life  of  an  ecclesiastical 
organization  is  a  life  of  induction,  a  state  of  per- 
petually disturbed  equilibrium  kept  up  by  another 
charged  body  in  the  neighborhood.  If  the  two 
bodies  touch  and  share  their  respective  charges, 
down  goes  the  index  of  the  electrometer! 

Do  you  know  that  every  man  has  a  religious 
belief  peculiar  to  himself?  Smith  is  always  a 
Smithite.  He  takes  in  exactly  Smith's-worth  of 
knowledge,  Smith's-worth  of  truth,  of  beauty,  of 
divinity.     And  Brown    has  from   time   immemorial 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.       375 

been  trying  to  burn  him,  to  excommunicate  him, 
to  anonymous-article  him,  because  he  did  not 
take  in  Brown 's-worth  of  knowledge,  truth,  beauty, 
divinity.  He  cannot  do  it,  any  more  than  a  pint- 
pot  can  hold  a  quart,  or  a  quart-pot  be  filled  by  a 
pint.  Iron  is  essentially  the  same  everywhere  and 
always ;  but  the  sulphate  of  iron  is  never  the 
same  as  the  carbonate  of  iron.  Truth  is  invari- 
able ;  but  the  Smithate  of  truth  must  always  differ 
from  the  Brownate  of  truth. 

The  wider  the  intellect,  the  larger  and  simpler 
the  expressions  in  which  its  knowledge  is  em- 
bodied. The  inferior  race,  the  degraded  and  en- 
slaved people,  the  small-minded  individual,  live  in 
the  details  which  to  larger  minds  and  more  ad- 
vanced tribes  of  men  reduce  themselves  to  axioms 
and  laws.  As  races  and  individual  minds  must 
always  differ  just  as  sulphates  and  carbonates  do, 
I  cannot  see  ground  for  expecting  the  Broad 
Church  to  be  founded  on  any  fusion  of  intellect- 
ual beliefs,  which  of  course  implies  that  those  who 
hold  the  larger  number  of  doctrines  as  essential 
shall  come  down  to  those  who  hold  the  smaller 
number.  These  doctrines  are  to  the  negative  aris- 
tocracy what  the  quarterings  of  their  coats  are  to 
the  positive  orders  of  nobility. 

The  Broad  Church,  I  think,  will  never  be  based 
on  anything  that  requires  the  use  of  language. 
Freemasonry  gives  an  idea  of  such  a   church,  and 


376       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

a  brother  is  known  and  cared  for  in  a  strange 
land  where  no  word  of  his  can  be  understood. 
The  apostle  of  this  church  may  be  a  deaf  mute 
carrying  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  a  thirsting  fellow- 
creature.  The  cup  of  cold  water  does  not  require 
to  be  translated  for  a  foreigner  to  understand  it. 
I  am  afraid  the  only  Broad  Church  possible  is 
one  that  has  its  creed  in  the  heart,  and  not  in  the 
head,  —  that  we  shall  know  its  members  by  their 
fruits,  and  not  by  their  words.  If  you  say  this 
communion  of  well-doers  is  no  church,  I  can  only 
answer,  that  all  organized  bodies  have  their  limits 
of  size,  and  that  when  we  find  a  man  a  hundred 
feet  high  and  thirty  feet  broad  across  the  shoulders, 
we  will  look  out  for  an  organization  that  shall  in- 
clude all  Christendom. 

Some  of  us  do  practically  recognize  a  Broad 
Church  and  a  Narrow  Church,  however.  The 
Narrow  Church  may  be  seen  in  the  ship's  boats 
of  humanity,  in  the  long  boat,  in  the  jolly  boat, 
in  the  captain's  gig,  lying  off  the  poor  old  vessel, 
thanking  God  that  they  are  safe,  and  reckoning 
how  soon  the  hulk  containing  the  mass  of  their 
fellow-creatures  will  go  down.  The  Broad  Church 
is  on  board,  working  hard  at  the  pumps,  and 
very  slow  to  believe  that  the  ship  will  be  swal- 
lowed up  with  so  many  poor  people  in  it,  fastened 
down  under  the  hatches  ever  since  it  floated. 

All    this,    of   course,  was    nothing    but    my 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       377 

poor  notion  about  these  matters.  I  am  simply  an 
"  outsider,"  you  know ;  only  it  doesn't  do  very 
well  for  a  nest  of  Hingham  boxes  to  talk  too 
much  about  outsiders  and  insiders! 

After  this  talk  of  ours,  I  think  these  two  young 
people  went  pretty  regularly  to  the  Church  of  the 
Galileans.  Still  they  could  not  keep  away  from 
the  sweet  harmonies  and  rhythmic  litanies  of 
Saint  Polycarp  on  the  great  Church  festival-days ; 
so  that,  between  the  two,  they  were  so  much  to- 
gether, that  the  boarders  began  to  make  remarks, 
and  our  landlady  said  to  me,  one  day,  that,  though 
it  was  noon  of  her  business,  them  that  had  eyes 
couldn't  help  seein'  that  there  was  somethin'  goin' 
on  between  them  two  young  people  ;  she  thought 
the  young  man  was  a  very  likely  young  man, 
though  jest  what  his  prospecs  was  was  unbeknown 
to  her ;  but  she  thought  he  must  be  doin'  well, 
and  rather  guessed  he  would  be  able  to  take  care 
of  a  femily,  if  he  didn't  go  to  takin'  a  house  ; 
for  a  gentleman  and  his  wife  could  board  a  great 
deal  cheaper  than  they  could  keep  house ;  —  but 
then  that  girl  was  nothin'  but  a  child,  and 
wouldn't  think  of  bein'  married  this  five  year. 
They  was  good  boarders,  both  of  'em,  paid  regu- 
lar, and  was  as  pooty  a  couple  as  she  ever  laid 
eyea  on. 

To    come    back    to   what  I    began  to  speak 

of   before,  —  the   divinity-student  was   exercised   in 


378       THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

his  mind  about  the  Little  Gentleman,  and,  in  the 
kindness  of  his  heart,  —  for  he  was  a  good  young 
man,  —  and  in  the  strength  of  his  convictions,  — 
for  he  took  it  for  granted  that  he  and  his  crowd 
were  right,  and  other  folks  and  their  crowd  were 
wrong,  —  he  determined  to  bring  the  Little  Gen- 
tleman round  to  his  faith  before  he  died,  if  he 
could.  So  he  sent  word  to  the  sick  man,  that  he 
should  be  pleased  to  visit  him  and  have  some 
conversation  with  him ;  and  received  for  answer 
that  he  would  be  welcome. 

The  divinity-student  made  him  a  visit,  therefore, 
and  had  a  somewhat  remarkable  interview  with 
him,  which  I  shall  briefly  relate,  without  attempt- 
ing to  justify  the  positions  taken  by  the  Little 
Gentleman.  He  found  him  weak,  but  calm.  Iris 
sat  silent  by  his  pillow. 

After  the  usual  preliminaries,  the  divinity-student 
said,  in  a  kind  way,  that  he  was  sorry  to  find 
him  in  failing  health,  that  he  felt  concerned  for 
his  soul,  and  was  anxious  to  assist  him  in  mak- 
ing preparations  for  the  great  change  awaiting 
him. 

I  thank  you,  Sir, — said  the  Little  Gentleman; 
—  permit  me  to  ask  you,  what  makes  you  think 
I  am  not  ready  for  it,  Sir,  and  that  you  can  do 
anything  to  help  me,  Sir? 

I  address  you  only  as  a  fellow-man,  —  said  the 
divinity-student,  —  and  therefore  a  fellow-sinner. 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.      379 

I  am  not  a  man,  Sir!  —  said  the  Little  Gentle- 
man.—  I  was  born  into  this  world  the  wreck  of  a 
man,  and  I  shall  not  be  judged  with  a  race  to 
which  I  do  not  belong.  Look  at  this !  —  he  said, 
and  held  up  his  withered  arm.  —  See  there!  —  and 
he  pointed  to  his  misshapen  extremities.  —  Lay 
your  hand  here!  —  and  he  laid  "his  own  on  the 
region  of  his  misplaced  heart. —  I  have  known 
nothing  of  the  life  of  your  race.  When  I  first 
came  to  my  consciousness,  I  found  myself  an  ob- 
ject of  pity,  or  a  sight  to  show.  The  first  strange 
child  I  ever  remember  hid  its  face  and  would  not 
come  near  me.  I  was  a  broken-hearted  as  well  as 
broken-bodied  boy.  I  grew  into  the  emotions  of 
ripening  youth,  and  all  that  I  could  have  loved 
shrank  from  my  presence.  I  became  a  man  in 
years,  and  had  nothing  in  common  with  manhood 
but  its  longings.  My  life  is  the  dying  pang  of  a 
worn-out  race,  and  I  shall  go  down  alone  into  the 
dust,  out  of  this  world  of  men  and  women,  with- 
out ever  knowing  the  fellowship  of  the  one  or  the 
love  of  the  other.  1  will  not  die  with  a  lie  rat- 
tling in  my  throat.  If  another  state  of  being  has 
anything  worse  in  store  for  me,  I  have  had  a  long 
apprenticeship  to  give  me  strength  that  I  may 
bear  it.  I  don't  believe  it,  Sir !  I  have  too  much 
faith  for  that.  God  has  not  left  me  wholly  with- 
out comfort,  even  here.  I  love  this  old  place 
where  I  was  born  ;  —  the  heart  of  the  world  beats 


380   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

under  the  three  hills  of  Boston,  Sir!  I  love  this 
great  land,  with  so  many  tall  men  in  it,  and  so 
many  good,  noble  women.  —  His  eyes  turned  to 
the  silent  figure  by  his  pillow.  —  I  have  learned 
to  accept  meekly  what  has  been  allotted  to  me, 
but  I  cannot  honestly  say  that  I  think  my  sin 
has  been  greater  than  my  suffering.  I  bear  the 
ignorance  and  the  evil-doing  of  whole  generations 
in  my  single  person.  I  never  drew  a  .breath  of 
air  nor  took  a  step  that  was  not  a  punishment 
for  another's  fault.  I  may  have  had  many  wrong 
thoughts,  but  I  cannot  have  done  many  wrong 
deeds,  —  for  my  cage  has  been  a  narrow  one,  and 
I  have  paced  it  alone.  I  have  looked  through  the 
bars  and  seen  the  great  world  of  men  busy  and 
happy,  but  I  had  no  part  in  their  doings.  I  have 
known  what  it  was  to  dream  of  the  great  pas- 
sions ;  but  since  my  mother  kissed  me  before  she 
died,  no  woman's  lips  have  pressed  my  cheek, — 
nor  ever  will. 

The  young  girl's  eyes  glittered  with  a  sud- 
den film,  and  almost  without  a  thought,  but  with 
a  warm  human  instinct  that  rushed  up  into  her 
face  with  her  heart's  blood,  she  bent  over  and 
kissed  him.  It  was  the  sacrament  that  washed 
out  the  memory  of  long  years  of  bitterness,  and  I 
should  hold  it  an  unworthy  thought  to  defend  her. 

The  Little  Gentleman  repaid  her  with  the  only 
tear  any  of  us  ever  saw  him  shed. 


THE  PROFESSOR  AT   THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       381 

The  divinity-student  rose  from  his  place,  and, 
turning  away  from  the  sick  man,  walked  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  where  be  bowed  his  head 
and  was  still.  All  the  questions  he  had  meant  to 
ask  had  faded  from  his  memory.  The  tests  he 
had  prepared  by  which  to  judge  of  his  fellow- 
creature's  fitness  for  heaven  seemed  to  have  lost 
their  virtue.  He  could  trust  the  crippled  child  of 
sorrow  to  the  Infinite  Parent.  The  kiss  of  the 
fair-haired  girl  had  been  like  a  sign  from  heaven, 
that  angels  watched  over  him  whom  he  was  pre- 
suming but  a  moment  before  to  summon  before 
the   tribunal   of   his   private   judgment. 

Shall  I  pray  with  you?  —  he  said,  after  a  pause. 
—  A  little  before  he  would  have  said,  Shall  I 
pray  for  you  ?  —  The  Christian  religion,  as  taught 
by  its  Founder,  is  full  of  sentiment.  So  we  must 
not  blame  the  divinity-student,  if  he  was  over- 
come by  those  yearnings  of  human  sympathy 
which  predominate  so  much  more  in  the  sermons 
of  the  Master  than  in  the  writings  of  his  succes- 
sors, and  which  have  made  the  parable  of  the 
Prodigal  Son  the  consolation  of  mankind,  as  it 
has  been  the  stumbling-block  of  all  exclusive  doc- 
trines. 

Pray  !  —  said  the  Little   Gentleman. 

The  divinity-student  prayed,  in  low,  tender  tones, 
that  God  would  look  on  his  servant  lying  helpless 
at  the  feet  of  his  mercy;  that  he  would  remember 


382       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

his  long  years  of  bondage  in  the  flesh ;  that  he 
would  deal  gently  with  the  bruised  reed.  Thou 
hast  visited  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  this  their 
child.  Oh,  turn  away  from  him  the  penalties  of 
his  own  transgressions !  Thou  hast  laid  upon 
him,  from  infancy,  the  cross  which  thy  stronger 
children  are  called  upon  to  take  up ;  and  now 
that  he  is  fainting  under  it,  be  Thou  his  stay, 
and  do  Thou  succor  him  that  is  tempted!  Let 
his  manifold  infirmities  come  between  him  and 
Thy  judgment ;  in  wrath  remember  mercy !  If  his 
eyes  are  not  opened  to  all  thy  truth,  let  thy  com- 
passion lighten  the  darkness  that  rests  upon  him, 
even  as  it  came  through  the  word  of  thy  Son  to 
blind  Bartimeus,  who  sat  by  the  wayside,  beg- 
ging! 

Many  more  petitions  he  uttered,  but  all  in  the 
same  subdued  tone  of  tenderness.  In  the  presence 
of  helpless  suffering,  and  in  the  fast-darkening 
shadow  of  the  Destroyer,  he  forgot  all  bat  his 
Christian  humanity,  and  cared  more  about  con- 
soling his  fellow-man  than  making  a  proselyte  of 
him. 

This  was  the  last  prayer  to  which  the  Little 
Gentleman  ever  listened.  Some  change  was  rap- 
idly coming  over  him  during  this  last  hour  of 
which  I  have  been  speaking.  The  excitement  of 
pleading  his  cause  before  his  self-elected  spiritual 
adviser,  —  the  emotion  which  overcame   him,  when 


THE  PBOFESSOR  AT  THE   BBEAKFAST-TABLE.      383 

the  young  girl  obeyed  the  sadden  impulse  of  her 
feelings  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  cheek,  —  the 
thoughts  that  mastered  him  while  the  divinity- 
student  poured  out  his  soul  for  him  in  prayer, 
might  well  hurry  on  the  inevitable  moment.  When 
the  divinity-student  had  uttered  his  last  petition, 
commending  him  to  the  Father  through  his  Son's 
intercession,  he  turned  to  look  upon  him  before 
leaving  his  chamber.  His  face  was  changed. — 
There  is  a  language  of  the  human  countenance 
which  we  all  understand  without  an  interpreter, 
though  the  lineaments  belong  to  the  rudest  savage 
that  ever  stammered  in  an  unknown  barbaric  dia- 
lect. By  the  stillness  of  the  sharpened  features, 
by  the  blankness  of  the  tearless  eyes,  by  the 
fixedness  of  the  smileless  mouth,  by  the  deadening 
tints,  by  the  contracted  brow,  by  the  dilating 
nostril,  we  know  that  the  soul  is  soon  to  leave  its 
mortal  tenement,  and  is  already  closing  up  its 
windows  and  putting  out  its  fires.  —  Such  was 
the  aspect  of  the  face  upon  which  the  divinity- 
student  looked,  after  the  brief  silence  which  fol- 
lowed his  prayer.  The  change  had  been  rapid, 
though  not  that  abrupt  one  which  is  liable  to 
happen  at  any  moment  in  these  cases.  —  The  sick 
man  looked  towards  him.  —  Farewell,  —  he  said. 
—  I  thank  you.     Leave  me  alone  with  her. 

When    the    divinity-student    had    gone,    and    the 
Little    Gentleman    found    himself    alone    with    Iris, 


384       THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

he  lifted  his  hand  to  his  neck,  and  took  from  it, 
suspended  by  a  slender  chain,  a  quaint,  antique- 
looking  key,  —  the  same  key  I  had  once  seen  him 
holding.  He  gave  this  to  her,  and  pointed  to  a 
carved  cabinet  opposite  his  bed,  one  of  those  that 
had  so  attracted  my  curious  eyes  and  set  me 
wondering   as   to   what   it   might   contain. 

Open  it,  —  he  said,  —  and  light  the  lamp.  —  The 
young  girl  walked  to  the  cabinet  and  unlocked 
the  door.  A  deep  recess  appeared,  lined  with 
black  velvet,  against  which  stood  in  white  relief 
an  ivory  crucifix.  A  silver  lamp  hung  over  it. 
She  lighted  the  lamp  and  came  back  to  the  bed- 
side. The  dying  man  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
figure  of  the  dying  Saviour.  —  Give  me  your 
hand,  —  he  said ;  and  Iris  placed  her  right  hand  in 
his  left.  So  they  remained,  until  presently  his 
eyes  lost  their  meaning,  though  they  still  remained 
vacantly  fixed  upon  the  white  image.  Yet  he 
held  the  young  girl's  hand  firmly,  as  if  it  were 
leading  him  through  some  deep-shadowed  valley 
and  it  was  all  he  could  cling  to.  But  presently 
an  involuntary  muscular  contraction  stole  over  him, 
and  his  terrible  dying  grasp  held  the  poor  girl  as 
if  she  were  wedged  in  an  engine  of  torture.  She 
pressed  her  lips  together  and  sat  still.  The  in- 
exorable hand  held  her  tighter  and  tighter,  until 
she  felt  as  if  her  own  slender  fingers  would  be 
crushed  in  its   gripe.     It  was    one  of  the   tortures 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.       385 

of  the  Inquisition  she  was  suffering,  and  she  could 
not  stir  from  her  place.  Then,  in  her  great  an- 
guish, she,  too,  cast  her  eyes  upon  that  dying 
figure,  and,  looking  upon  its  pierced  hands  and 
feet  and  side  and  lacerated  forehead,  she  felt  that 
she  also  must  suffer  uncomplaining.  In  the  mo- 
ment of  her  sharpest  pain  she  did  not  forget  the 
duties  of  her  tender  office,  but  dried  the  dying 
man's  moist  forehead  with  her  handkerchief,  even 
while  the  dews  of  agony  were  glistening  on  her 
own.  How  long  this  lasted  she  never  could  tell. 
Time  and  thirst  are  two  things  you  and  I  talk 
about;  but  the  victims  whom  holy  men  and 
righteous  judges  used  to  stretch  on  their  engines 
knew  better  what  they  meant  than  you  or  I!  — 
What  is  that  great  bucket  of  water  for  ?  said  the 
Marchioness  de  Brinvilliers,  before  she  was  placed 
on  the  rack.  —  For  you  to  drink,  —  said  the  torturer 
to  the  little  woman. —  She  could  not  think  that  it 
would  take  such  a  flood  to  quench  the  fire  in  her 
and  so  keep  her  alive  for  her  confession.  The 
torturer  knew  better  than  she. 

After  a  time  not  to  be  counted  in  minutes,  as 
the  clock  measures, — without  any  warning,  —  there 
came  a  swift  change  of  his  features ;  his  face 
turned  white,  as  the  waters  whiten  when  a  sud- 
den breath  passes  over  their  still  surface;  the  mus- 
cles instantly  relaxed,  and  Iris,  released  at  once 
from  her  care  for  the  sufferer  and  from  his   uncon- 

17 


386   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

scious   grasp,   fell    senseless,   with    a   feeble    cry, — 
the  only  utterance  of  her  long  agony. 

Perhaps  you  sometimes  wander  in  through  the 
iron  gates  of  the  Copp's  Hill  burial-ground.  You 
love  to  stroll  round  among  the  graves  that  crowd 
each  other  in  the  thickly  peopled  soil  of  that 
breezy  summit.  You  love  to  lean  on  the  free- 
stone slab  which  lies  over  the  bones  of  the 
Mathers,  —  to  read  the  epitaph  of  stout  Wil- 
liam Clark,  "Despiser  of  Sorry  Persons  and  little 
Actions,"  —  to  stand  by  the  stone  grave  of  sturdy 
Daniel  Malcolm  and  look  upon  the  splintered  slab 
that  tells  the  old  rebel's  story,  —  to  kneel  by  the 
triple  stone  that  says  how  the  three  Worthylakes, 
father,  mother,  and  young  daughter,  died  on  the 
same  day  and  lie  buried  there ;  a  mystery ;  the 
subject  of  a  moving  ballad,  by  the  late  Benjamin 
Franklin,  —  as  may  be  seen  in  his  autobio- 
graphy, which  will  explain  the  secret  of  the  triple 
gravestone ;  though  the  old  philosopher  has  made 
a  mistake,  unless  the  stone  is  wrong. 

Not  very  far  from  that  you  will  find  a  fair 
mound,  of  dimensions  fit  to  hold  a  well-grown 
man.  I  will  not  tell  you  the  inscription  upon  the 
stone  which  stands  at  its  head;  for  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  be  sure  of  the  resting-place  of  one  who 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  he  should  be  known 
as   a  cripple  among  the  dead,  after   being   pointed 


THE    PROFESSOB  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       387 

at  so  long  among  the  living.  There  is  one  sign, 
it  is  true,  by  which,  if  you  have  been  a  sagacious 
reader  of  these  papers,  you  will  at  once  know  it ; 
but  I  fear  you  read  carelessly,  and  must  study 
them  more  diligently  before  you  will  detect  the 
hint  to  which  I  allude. 

The  Little  Gentleman  lies  where  he  longed  to 
lie,  among  the  old  names  and  the  old  bones  of 
the  old  Boston  people.  At  the  foot  of  his  resting- 
place  is  the  river,  alive  with  the  wings  and  anten- 
nae of  its  colossal  water-insects;  over  opposite  are 
the  great  war-ships,  and  the  heavy  guns,  which, 
when  they  roar,  shake  the  soil  in  which  he  lies ; 
and  in  the  steeple  of  Christ  Church,  hard  by,  are 
the  sweet  chimes  which  are  the  Boston  boy's 
Ranz  des  Vaches,  whose  echoes  follow  him  all  the 
world  over. 

In  Pace  ! 

I  told  you  a  good  while  ago  that  the  Little 
Gentleman  could  not  do  a  better  thing  than  to 
eave  all  his  money,  whatever  it  might  be,  to  the 
young  girl  who  has  since  that  established  such  a 
claim  upon  him.  He  did  not,  however.  A  con- 
siderable bequest  to  one  of  our  public  institutions 
keeps  his  name  in  grateful  remembrance.  The 
ttlr<cope  through  which  he  was  fond  of  watching 
the  heavenly  bodies,  and  the  movements  of  which 
had    been    the    source  of   such    odd   fancies    on  my 


388       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

part,  is  now  the  property  of  a  Western  College. 
You  smile  as  you  think  of  my  taking  it  for  a 
fleshless  human  figure,  when  I  saw  its  tube  point- 
ing to  the  sky,  and  thought  it  was  an  arm,  under 
the  white  drapery  thrown  over  it  for  protection. 
So  do  I  smile  now;  I  belong  to  the  numerous 
class  who  are  prophets  after  the  fact,  and  hold 
my  nightmares  very  cheap  by  daylight. 

I  have  received  many  letters  of  inquiry  as  to 
the  sound  resembling1  a  womarCs  voice,  which  oc- 
casioned me  so  many  perplexities.  Some  thought 
there  was  no  question  that  he  had  a  second  apart- 
ment, in  which  he  had  made  an  asylum  for  a 
deranged  female  relative.  Others  were  of  opinion 
that  he  was,  as  I  once  suggested,  a  "Bluebeard" 
with  patriarchal  tendencies,  and  I  have  even  been 
censured  for  introducing  so  Oriental  an  element 
into  my  record  of  boarding-house  experience. 

Come  in  and  see  me,  the  Professor,  some  even- 
ing when  I  have  nothing  else  to  do,  and  ask  me 
to  play  you  Tartinih  DeviVs  Sonata  on  that  ex- 
traordinary instrument  in  my  possession,  well  known 
to  amateurs  as  one  of  the  master-pieces  of  Joseph 
Guarnerius.  The  vox  humana  of  the  great  Haerlem 
organ  is  very  lifelike,  and  the  same  stop  in  the 
organ  of  the  Cambridge  chapel  might  be  mistaken 
in  some  of  its  tones  for  a  human  voice ;  but  I 
think  you  never  heard  anything  come  so  near  the 
cry  of  a  prima  donna   as   the  A  string  and  the  E 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       389 

string  of  this  instrument.  A  single  fact  will  illus- 
trate the  resemblance.  I  was  executing  some 
fours  de  force  upon  it  one  evening,  when  the 
policeman  of  our  district  rang  the  bell  sharply, 
and  asked  what  was  the  matter  in  the  house.  He 
had  heard  a  woman's  screams,  —  he  was  sure  of 
ir.  I  had  to  make  the  instrument  sing  before  his 
eyes  before  he  could  be  satisfied  that  he  had  not 
heard  the  cries  of  a  woman.  This  instrument 
was  bequeathed  to  me  by  the  Little  Gentleman. 
Whether  it  had  anything  to  do  with  the  sounds  I 
heard  coming  from  his  chamber,  you  can  form 
your  own  opinion ;  —  I  have  no  other  conjecture 
to  offer.  It  is  not  true  that  a  second  apartment 
with  a  secret  entrance  was  found;  and  the  story 
of  the  veiled  lady  is  the  invention  of  one  of  the 
Reporters. 

Bridget,  the  housemaid,  always  insisted  that  he 
died  a  Catholic.  She  had  seen  the  crucifix,  and 
believed  that  he  prayed  on  his  knees  before  it. 
The  last  circumstance  is  very  probably  true ;  in- 
deed, there  was  a  spot  worn  on  the  carpet  just 
before  this  cabinet  which  might  be  thus  accounted 
for.  Why  he,  whose  whole  life  was  a  crucifixion, 
should  not  love  to  look  on  that  divine  image  of 
blameless  suffering,  I  cannot  see ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  seems  to  me  the  most  natural  thins:  in  the 
world  that  he  should.  But  there  are  those  who 
want  to  make  private    property  of   everything,  and 


390       THE    PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

can't  make  up  their  minds  that  people  who  don't 
think  as  they  do  should  claim  any  interest  in  that 
infinite  compassion  expressed  in  the  central  figure 
of  the  Christendom  which  includes  us  all. 

The  divinity-student  expressed  a  hope  before 
the   boarders   that   he    should  meet  him  in  heaven. 

—  The  question  is,  whether  he'll  meet  you,  —  said 
the  young  fellow  John,  rather  smartly.  The  di- 
vinity-student hadn't  thought  of  that 

However,  he  is  a  worthy  young  man,  and  I 
trust  I  have  shown  him  in  a  kindly  and  respectful 
light.  He  will  get  a  parish  by-and-by;  and,  as  he 
is  about  to  marry  the  sister  of  an  old  friend, — 
the  Schoolmistress,  whom    some    of   us    remember, 

—  and  as  all  sorts  of  expensive  accidents  happen 
to  young  married  ministers,  he  will  be  under 
bonds  to  the  amount  of  his  salary,  which  means 
starvation,  if  they  are  forfeited,  to  think  all  his 
days  as  he  thought  when  he  was  settled,  —  unless 
the  majority  of  his  people  change  with  him  or  in 
advance  of  him.  A  hard  case,  to  which  nothing 
could  reconcile  a  man,  except  that  the  faithful 
discharge  of  daily  duties  in  his  personal  relations 
with  his  parishioners  will  make  him  useful  enough 
in  his  way,  though  as  a  thinker  he  may  cease  to 
exist  before  he  has  reached  middle  age. 

Iris    went    into     mourning    for    the    Little 

Gentleman.  Although,  as  I  have  said,  he  left  the 
bulk  of  his  property,  by  will,  to    a    public   institu- 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BEEAKFAST-TABLE.       391 

tion,  he  added  a  codicil,  by  which  he  disposed  of 
various  pieces  of  property  as  tokens  of  kind  re- 
membrance. It  was  in  this  way  I  became  the 
possessor  of  the  wonderful  instrument  I  have 
spoken  of,  which  had  been  purchased  for  him  ont 
of  an  Italian  convent.  The  landlady  was  com- 
forted with  a  small  legacy.  The  following  extract 
relates  to  Iris  :  " in  consideration  of  her  mani- 
fold acts  of  kindness,  but  only  in  token  of  grate- 
ful remembrance,  and  by  no  means  as  a  reward 
for  services  which  cannot  be  compensated,  a  cer- 
tain messuage,  with  all  the  land  thereto  appertain- 
ing,   situate    in Street,   at   the    North    End,    so 

called,  of  Boston,  aforesaid,  the  same  being  the 
house  in  which  I  was  born,  but  now  inhabited 
by  several  families,  and  known  as  <  the  Rookery.' " 
Iris  had  also  the  crucifix,  the  portrait,  and  the  red- 
jewelled  ring.  The  funeral  or  death's-head  ring 
was  buried  with  him. 

It  was  a  good  while,  after  the  Little  Gentleman 
was  gone,  before  our  boarding-house  recovered  its 
wonted  cheerfulness.  There  was  a  flavor  in  his 
whims  and  local  prejudices  that  we  liked,  even 
while  we  smiled  at  them.  It  was  hard  to  see  the 
tall  chair  thrust  away  among  useless  lumber,  to 
dismantle  his  room,  to  take  down  the  picture  of 
Leah,  the  handsome  Witch  of  Essex,  to  move 
away  the  massive  shelves  that  held  the  hooks  he 
loved,  to  pack  up  the  tube  through  which   he   nsed 


392       THE   PKOFESSOK  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

to  study  the  silent  stars,  looking  down  at  him, 
like  the  eyes  of  dumb  creatures,  with  a  kind  of 
stupid  half-consciousness  that  did  not  worry  him 
as  did  the  eyes  of  men  and  women, —  and  hardest 
of  all  to  displace  that  sacred  figure  to  which  his 
heart  had  always  turned  and  found  refuge,  in  the 
feelings  it  inspired,  from  all  the  perplexities  of  his 
busy  brain.     It  was  hard,  but  it  had  to  be  done. 

And  by-and-by  we  grew  cheerful  again,  and  the 
breakfast-table  wore  something  of  its  old  look.  The 
Koh-i-noor,  as  we  named  the  gentleman  with  the 
diamond,  left  us,  however,  soon  after  that  "little 
mill,"  as  the  young  fellow  John  called  it,  where 
he  came  off  second  best.  His  departure  was  no 
doubt  hastened  by  a  note  from  the  landlady's 
daughter,  inclosing  a  lock  of  purple  hair  which 
she  "  had  valued  as  a  pledge  of  affection,  ere 
she  knew  the  hollowness  of  the  vows  he  had 
breathed,"  speedily  followed  by  another,  inclosing 
the  landlady's  bill.  The  next  morning  he  was 
missing,  as  were  his  limited  wardrobe  and  the 
trunk  that  held  it.  Three  empty  bottles  of  Mrs. 
Allen's  celebrated  preparation,  each  of  them  as- 
serting, on  its  word  of  honor  as  a  bottle,  that  its 
former  contents  were  "  not  a  dye,"  were  all  that 
was  left  to  us  of  the  Koh-i-noor. 

From  this  time  forward,  the  landlady's  daughter 
manifested  a  decided  improvement  in  her  style  of 
carrying  herself  before  the  boarders.     She  abolished 


1  Hi:   PROFESSOR    \r    TEE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       SOtS 

the  odious  little  flat,  gummy  side-curl.  She  left 
off  various  articles  of  "jewelry."  She  began  to 
help  her  mother  in  some  of  her  household  dutirs. 
She  became  a  regular  attendant  on  the  ministra- 
tions of  a  very  worthy  clergyman,  having  been 
attracted  to  his  meetin'  by  witnessing  a  marriage 
ceremony  in  which  he  called  a  man  and  a  wom- 
an a  "  gentleman "  and  a  u  lady,"  —  a  stroke  of 
gentility  which  quite  overcame  her.  She  even 
took  a  part  in  what  she  called  a  Sabbath  school, 
though  it  was  held  on  Sunday,  and  by  no  means 
on  Saturday,  as  the  name  she  intended  to  utter 
implied.  All  this,  which  was  very  sincere,  as  I 
believe,  on  her  part,  and  attended  with  a  great 
improvement  in  her  character,  ended  in  her  bring- 
ing home  a  young  man,  with  straight,  sandy  hair, 
brushed  so  as  to  stand  up  steeply  above  his  fore- 
head, wearing  a  pair  of  green  spectacles,  and 
dressed  in  black  broadcloth.  His  personal  aspect, 
and  a  certain  solemnity  of  countenance,  led  me  to 
think  he  must  be  a  clergyman ;  and  as  Master 
Benjamin  Franklin  blurted  out  before  several  of 
us  boarders,  one  day,  that  "  Sis  had  got  a  beau," 
I  was  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  her  becoming  a 
minister's  wife.  On  inquiry,  however,  I  found 
that  the  somewhat  solemn  look  which  I  had  no- 
ticed  was  indeed  a  professional  one,  but  not  cleri- 
cal He  was  a  young  undertaker,  who  had  just 
succeeded   to    a   thriving    business.     Things,    I    be- 

17* 


394       THE   PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

lieve,  are  going  on  well  at  this  time  of  writing, 
and  I  am  glad  for  the  landlady's  daughter  and  her 
mother.  Sextons  and  undertakers  are  the  cheer- 
fullest  people  in  the  world  at  home,  as  comedians 
and  circus-clowns  are  the  most  melancholy  in  their 
domestic  circle. 

As  our  old  boarding-house  is  still  in  existence, 
I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give  too  minute  a 
statement  of  the  present  condition  of  each  and  all 
of  its  inmates.  I  am  happy  to  say,  however,  that 
they  are  all  alive  and  well,  up  to  this  time.  That 
kind  old  gentleman  who  sat  opposite  to  me  is 
growing  older,  as  old  men  will,  but  still  smiles  be- 
nignantly  on  all  the  boarders,  and  has  come  to  be 
a  kind  of  father  to  all  of  them, —  so  that  on  his 
birthday  there  is  always  something  like  a  family 
festival.  The  Poor  Relation,  even,  has  warmed 
into  a  filial  feeling  towards  him,  and  on  his  last 
birthday  made  him  a  beautiful  present,  namely,  a 
very  handsomely  bound  copy  of  Blair's  celebrated 
poem,  "  The  Grave." 

The  young  man  John  is  still,  as  he  says,  "  in 
fust-rate  fettle."  I  saw  him  spar,  not  long  since, 
at  a  private  exhibition,  and  do  himself  great  credit 
in  a  set-to  with  Henry  Finnegass,  Esq.,  a  profes- 
sional gentleman  of  celebrity.  I  am  pleased  to 
say  that  he  has  been  promoted  to  an  upper  clerk- 
ship, and,  in  consequence  of  his  rise  in  office,  has 
taken   an   apartment    somewhat  lower   down  than 


THE  PBOFESSOfi   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       895 

number  "forty-'leven,"  as  he  facetiously  called  his 
attic  Whether  there  is  any  truth,  or  not,  in  the 
story  of  his  attachment  to,  and  favorable  recep- 
tion by,  the  daughter  of  the  head  of  an  extensive 
wholesale  grocer's  establishment,  I  will  not  venture 
an  opinion;  I  may  say,  however,  that  I  have  met 
him  repeatedly  in  company  with  a  very  well- 
nourished  and  high-colored  young  lady,  who,  I 
understand,  is  the  daughter  of  the  house  in  ques- 
tion. 

Some  of  the  boarders  were  of  opinion  that  Iris 
did  not  return  the  undisguised  attentions  of  the 
handsome  young  Marylander.  Instead  of  fixing 
her  eyes  steadily  on  him,  as  she  used  to  look 
upon  the  Little  Gentleman,  she  would  turn  them 
away,  as  if  to  avoid  his  own.  They  often  went 
to  church  together,  it  is  true ;  but  nobody,  of 
course,  supposes  there  is  any  relation  between  re- 
ligious sympathy  and  those  wretched  "  sentimen- 
tal" movements  of  the  human  heart  upon  which 
it  is  commonly  agreed  that  nothing  better  is  based 
than  society,  civilization,  friendship,  the  relation 
of  husband  and  wife,  and  of  parent  and  child, 
and  which  many  people  must  think  were  singu- 
larly overrated  by  the  Teacher  of  Nazareth,  whose 
whole  life,  as  I  said  before,  was  full  of  sentiment, 
loving  this  or  that  young  man,  pardoning  this  or 
that  sinner,  weeping  over  the  dead,  mourning  for 
the  doomed  city,  blessing,  and  perhaps  kissing,  the 


39G   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

little  children,  —  so   that  the  Gospels  are  still  cried 
over  almost  as  often  as  the  last  work  of  fiction  ! 

But  one  fine  June  morning  there  rumbled  up  to 
the  door  of  our  boarding-house  a  hack  containing 
a  lady  inside  and  a  trunk  on  the  outside.  It  was 
our  friend  the  lady-patroness  of  Miss  Iris,  the 
same  who  had  been  called  by  her  admiring  pastor 
"The  Model  of  all  the  Virtues."  Once  a  week 
she  had  written  a  letter,  in  a  rather  formal  hand, 
but  full  of  good  advice,  to  her  young  charge. 
And  now  she  had  come  to  carry  her  away,  think- 
ing that  she  had  learned  all  she  was  likely  to 
learn  under  her  present  course  of  teaching.  The 
Model,  however,  was  to  stay  awhile,  —  a  week,  or 
more,  —  before  they  should  leave  together. 

Iris  was  obedient,  as  she  was  bound  to  be.  She 
was  respectful,  grateful,  as  a  child  is  with  a  just, 
but  not  tender  parent.  Yet  something  was  wrong. 
She  had  one  of  her  trances,  and  became  statue- 
like, as  before,  only  the  day  after  the  Model's 
arrival.  She  was  wan  and  silent,  tasted  nothing 
at  table,  smiled  as  if  by  a  forced  effort,  and  often 
looked  vaguely  away  from  those  who  were  look- 
ing at  her,  her  eyes  just  glazed  with  the  shining 
moisture  of  a  tear  that  must  not  be  allowed  to 
gather  and  fall.  Was  it  grief  at  parting  from  the 
place  where  her  strange  friendship  had  grown  up 
with  the  Little  Gentleman  ?  Yet  she  seemed  to 
have  become    reconciled   to  his  loss,  and  rather  to 


THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       397 

have  a  deep  feeling  of  gratitude  that  she  had 
been  permitted  to  care  for  him  in  his  last  weary 
days. 

The  Sunday  after  the  Model's  arrival,  that  lady 
had  an  attack  of  headache,  and  was  obliged  to 
shut  herself  up  in  a  darkened  room  alone.  Our 
two  young  friends  took  the  opportunity  to  go  to- 
gether to  the  Church  of  the  Galileans.  They  said 
but  little  going,  — "  collecting  their  thoughts  "  for 
the  service,  I  devoutly  hope.  My  kind  good  friend 
the  pastor  preached  that  day  one  of  his  sermons 
that  make  us  all  feel  like  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
his  text  was  that  affectionate  one  from  John,  "  My 
little  children,  let  us  not  love  in  word,  neither  in 
tongue,  but  in  deed  and  in  truth."  When  Iris 
and  her  friend  came  out  of  church,  they  were 
both  pale,  and  walked  a  space  without  speaking. 

At  last  the  young  man  said,  —  You  and  I  are 
not  little  children,  Iris  ! 

She  looked  in  his  face  an  instant,  as  if  startled, 
for  there  was  something  strange  in  the  tone  of  his 
voice.  She  smiled  faintly,  but  spoke  never  a 
word. 

In  deed  and  in  truth,  Iris, 

"What  shall  a  poor  girl  say  or  do,  when  a 
strong  man  falters  in  his  speech  before  her,  and 
can  do  nothing  better  than  hold  out  his  hand  to 
finish  his  broken  sentence  ? 

The  poor  girl  said  nothing,  but  quietly  laid    her 


398       THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

ungloved  hand  in  his,  —  the  little  soft  white  hand 
which  had  ministered  so  tenderly  and  suffered  so 
patiently. 

The  blood  came  back  to  the  young  man's 
cheeks,  as  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips,  even  as  they 
walked  there  in  the  street,  touched  it  gently  with 
them,  and  said,  —  "  It  is  mine  ! " 

Iris  did  not  contradict  him. 


The  seasons  pass  by  so  rapidly,  that  I  am 
startled  to  think  how  much  has  happened  since 
these  events  I  was  describing.  Those  two  young 
people  would  insist  on  having  their  own  way 
about  their  own  affairs,  notwithstanding  the  good 
lady,  so  justly  called  the  Model,  insisted  that  the 
age  of  twenty-five  years  was  as  early  as  any  dis- 
creet young  lady  should  think  of  incurring  the 
responsibilities,  etc.,  etc.  Long  before  Iris  had 
reached  that  age,  she  was  the  wife  of  a  young 
Maryland  engineer,  directing  some  of  the  vast 
constructions  of  his  native  State,  —  where  he  was 
growing  rich  fast  enough  to  be  able  to  decline 
that  famous  Russian  offer  which  would  have  made 
him  a  kind  of  nabob  in  a  few  years.  Iris  does 
not  write  verse  often,  nowadays,  but  she  some- 
times draws.  The  last  sketch  of  hers  I  have  seen 
in  my  Southern  visits  was  of  two  children,  a  boy 


THE   PROFESSOR  AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       399 

and  girl,  the  youngest  holding  a  silver  goblet,  like 
the  one  she  held  that  evening  when  I — I  was  so 
struck  with  her  statue-like  beauty.  If  in  the  later 
summer  months  you  find  the  grass  marked  with 
footsteps  around  that  grave  on  Copp's  Hill  I  told 
you  of,  and  flowers  scattered  over  it,  you  may  be 
sure  that  Iris  is  here  on  her  annual  visit  to  the 
home  of  her  childhood  and  that  excellent  lady 
whose  only  fault  was,  that  Nature  had  written 
out  her  list  of  virtues  on  ruled  paper,  and  for- 
gotten to  rub  out  the  lines. 

One  thing  more  I  must  mention.  Being  on  the 
Common,  last  Sunday,  I  wTas  attracted  by  the 
cheerful  spectacle  of  a  well-dressed  and  somewhat 
youthful  papa  wheeling  a  very  elegant  little  car- 
riage containing  a  stout  baby.  A  buxom  young 
lady  watched  them  from  one  of  the  stone  seats, 
with  an  interest  which  could  be  nothing  less  than 
maternal.  I  at  once  recognized  my  old  friend,  the 
young  fellow  whom  we  called  John.  He  was  de- 
lighted to  see  me,  introduced  me  to  "  Madam," 
and  would  have  the  lusty  infant  out  of  the  car- 
riage, and  hold  him  up  for  me  to  look  at. 

Now,  then,  —  he  said  to  the  two-year-old,  — 
show  the  gentleman  how  you  hit  from  the  shoul- 
der. —  Whereupon  the  little  imp  pushed  his  fat 
fist  straight  into  my  eye,  to  his  father's  intense 
satisfaction. 

Fust-rate    little    chap,  —  said    the    papa.  —  Chip 


40)   THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

of  the  old  block.  Regl'r  little  Johnny,  you 
know. 

I  was  so  much  pleased  to  find  the  young  fellow 
settled  in  life,  and  pushing  about  one  of  "  them 
little  articles"  he  had  seemed  to  want  so  much, 
that  I  took  my  "  punishment "  at  the  hands  of 
the  infant  pugilist  with  great  equanimity.  —  And 
how  is  the  old  boarding-house  ?  —  I  asked. 

A  1,  —  he  answered.  —  Painted  and  papered  as 
good  as  new.  Gahs  in  all  the  rooms  up  to  the 
sky-parlors.  Old  woman's  layin'  up  money,  they 
say.  Means  to  send  Ben  Franklin  to  college.  — 
Just  then  the  first  bell  rang  for  church,  and  my 
friend,  who,  I  understand,  has  become  a  most 
exemplary  member  of  society,  said  he  must  be  off 
to  get  ready  for  meetin',  and  told  the  young  one 
to  "  shake  dada,"  which  he  did  with  his  closed 
fist,  in  a  somewhat  menacing  manner.  And  so 
the  young  man  John,  as  we  used  to  call  him, 
took  the  pole  of  the  miniature  carriage,  and 
pushed  the  small  pugilist  before  him  homewards, 
followed,  in  a  somewhat  leisurely  way,  by  his 
pleasant-looking  lady-companion,  and  I  sent  a 
sigh  and  a  smile  after  him. 

That  evening,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  I  could 
not  help  going  round  by  the  old  boarding-house. 
The  "gahs"  was  lighted,  but  the  curtains,  or, 
more  properly,  the  painted  shades,  were  not  down. 
And    so    I    stood    there    and    looked    in   along  the 


THE    PROFESSOB  AT  THE  BKEAKF  AST-TABLE.       401 

table  where  the  boarders  sat  at  the  evening  meal, 
—  oar  old  breakfast-table,  which  some  of  us  feel 
as  if  we  knew  so  well.  There  were  new  faces  at 
it,  but  also  old  and  familiar  ones. —  The  landlady, 
in  a  wonderfully  smart  cap,  looking  young,  com- 
paratively speaking,  and  as  if  half  the  wrinkles 
had  been  ironed  out  of  her  forehead.  —  Her  daugh- 
ter, in  rather  dressy  half-mourning,  with  a  vast 
brooch  of  jet,  got  up,  apparently,  to  match  the 
gentleman  next  her,  who  was  in  black  costume 
and  sandy  hair,  —  the  last  rising  straight  from  his 
forehead,  like  the  marble  flame  one  sometimes 
sees  at  the  top  of  a  funeral  urn.  —  The  Poor  Re- 
lation, not  in  absolute  black,  but  in  a  stuff  with 
specks  of  white  ;  as  much  as  to  say,  that,  if  there 
were  any  more  Hirarns  left  to  sigh  for  her,  there 
were  pin-holes  in  the  night  of  her  despair,  through 
which  a  ray  of  hope  might  find  its  way  to  an 
adorer.  —  Master  Benjamin  Franklin,  grown  taller 
of  late,  was  in  the  act  of  splitting  his  face  open 
with  a  wedge  of  pie,  so  that  his  features  were 
seen  to  disadvantage  for  the  moment.  —  The  good 
old  gentleman  was  sitting  still  and  thoughtful. 
All  at  once  he  turned  his  face  toward  the  win- 
dow where  I  stood,  and,  just  as  if  he  had  seen 
me,  smiled  his  benignant  smile.  It  was  a  recol- 
lection of  some  past  pleasant  moment;  but  it  fell 
upon  me  like  the  blessing  of  a  father. 

I    kissed    my    hand    to    them    all,    unseen    as    I 


402       THE   PROFESSOR   AT   THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE. 

stood  in  the  outer  darkness ;  and  as  I  turned  and 
went  my  way,  the  table  and  all  around  it  faded 
into  the  realm  of  twilight  shadows  and  of  mid- 
night dreams. 


And  so  my  year's  record  is  finished.  The  Pro- 
fessor has  talked  less  than  his  predecessor,  but  he 
has  heard  and  seen  more.  Thanks  to  all  those 
friends  who  from  time  to  time  have  sent  their 
messages  of  kindly  recognition  and  fellow-feeling ! 
Peace  to  all  such  as  may  have  been  vexed  in 
spirit  by  any  utterance  these  pages  have  repeated ! 
They  will,  doubtless,  forget  for  the  moment  the 
difference  in  the  hues  of  truth  we  look  at  through 
our  human  prisms,  and  join  in  singing  (inwardly) 
this  hymn  to  the  Source  of  the  light  we  all 
need  to  lead  us,  and  the  warmth  which  alone  can 
make  us  all  brothers. 


A  SUN-DAY  HYMN. 

Lord  of  all  being !  throned  afar, 
Thy  glory  flames  from  sun  and  star; 
Centre  and  soul  of  every  sphere, 
Yet  to  each  loving  heart  how  near ! 

Sun  of  our  life,  thy  quickening  ray 
Sheds  on  our  path  the  glow  of  day ; 


THE  PROFESSOR   AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.       403 

Star  of  our  hope,  thy  softened  light 
Cheers  the  long  watches  of  the  night. 

Our  midnight  is  thy  smile  withdrawn  ; 
Our  noontide  is  thy  gracious  dawn ; 
Our  rainbow  arch  thy  mercy's  sign  ; 
All,  save  the  clouds  of  sin,  are  thine ! 

Lord  of  all  life,  below,  above, 

"Whose  light  is  truth,  whose  warmth  is  love, 

Before  thy  ever-blazing  throne 

"We  ask  no  lustre  of  our  own. 

Grant  us  thy  truth  to  make  us  free, 
And  kindling  hearts  that  burn  for  thee, 
Till  all  thy  living  altars  claim 
One  holy  light,  one  heavenly  flame  ! 


THE    END. 


INDEX. 


Adams.  Sam,  51,  52. 

Adjustment  to  what  we  look  at, 
197. 

America,  the  only  place  where 
man  is  full  grown,"  101. 

American,  faith  necessarily  differ- 
ent from  all  others,  274;  soil  wants 
the  flavor  of  humanity,  308;  the 
voiing,  357 ;  young,  where  his 
home  is,  359;  mind,  water-proof- 
ing of.  372. 

A  Mother's  Secret,  (poem,)  159. 

Are.  the  world's  great,  275. 

Arm,  left,  model  of  at  sculptor's, 
59. 

Art  harmonizes  all  ages,  198. 

A  Sub-day  Hym.n,  (poem,)  402. 

Autocrat,  the,  21,  S3,  27.  42. 

Auto-da-fe.  the  last,  202. 

Axioms)  the  Professor's,  about  good 
folks,  152. 

Aztecs  and  Fijians,  reverend,  144. 


Beood-globul.es,  number  of,  72. 
Boarders,  our  two  new  ones,  211. 
Boarding-house,  the  old,  400. 
Boarding-houses,  young  girls  in, 

282. 
Book  of  Iris,  283. 
Boston,  great  Macadamizing  place, 

20;  its  English  character,  55;  the 

brain  of  the  new  world,  104 ;  the 

grand  emporium  of  modesty,  104; 

air,   314;   danger  of  sneering  at, 

354. 
Boy  of  Windermere,  202. 
Boys,  The,  (poem,)  61. 
Braham's  forgetfulness,  30. 
Brain,  running  dry,  27 ;  and  heart 

366. 
Brain-women    and    heart-women, 

187. 
Bridget,  the  housemaid,  389. 
Bright,  Mr.,  101. 
Broad  Church,  the,  373  et  seq. 
Buns,  'lection,  52. 
Burns  Centenarv,  32. 


]',. 


C 


Baby,  American,  sucks  in  freedom 
with  milk  of  nurse,  102. 

Baltimore,  a  civilized  kind  of  vil- 
lage, 105;  the  gastronomic  me- 
tropolis, 105. 

Baltimokeans.  mention  of  two,  63. 

Battle  of  the  Standard,  97. 

Beauty,  index  of  a  larger  fact  than 
wisdom,  39. 

Bbug.  the  great  end  of,  1,  5. 

Ben.  Franklin,  old.  10. 

Bkw  una    Franklin. 

IMI  n    K  i : a  N  Klin.    ( landlady's 
1,401. 

I.IR7HI.AV   POBI, 

Blondes,  difference  in  their  char- 
acter. . 


Cabinet,  the  old,  114. 

Cadenus,  captivating  Stella  and 
Vanessa,  111. 

Calek,  Kobert,  his  book  burned, 
10. 

Cavern  under  the  road,  sound  from, 
225. 

Changing,  Dr.,  101. 

Channing,  Parson,  19. 

Check-book,  27. 

(Juki. sea  Beach,  gathering  of  ani- 
mals on,  207. 

<  iih->>-pLAYERs,  how  nicelv  match- 
ed, 210. 

Children,  scalded  to  death  by 
drinking  from  teakettle  spouts, 
209;    healthy  and  sickly,  241. 


'406 


INDEX. 


Choice  of  a  physician,  180. 

Church  of  St.  Polycarp,  265  et  seq. ; 
of  the  Galileans,  269  et  seq.,  397. 

Civilization,  its  dementia,  13. 

Clakk,  William,  his  epitaph,  386. 

Clergy,  their  part  in  civiliza- 
tion, 9. 

Clergyman,  choice  of,  181. 

Club-foot,  11. 

Coat,  forcing  one  on  a  stranger,  31. 

Coincidences  of  thoughts,  70. 

Cold,  damp  hands,  their  effect,  89. 

College  dormitory,  awful  breach 
in  walls  of,  236. 

Combat,  pugilistic,  351. 

Consciousness  that  persons  are 
looking  at  us,  196. 

Conservative,  18. 

Consistency,  41. 

Copp's  Hill,  3;  burial-ground,  386. 

Coughs,  ungrateful  things,  165. 

Counterparts,  exact,  cannot  wait 
for,  361. 

Country-boys  grown  rich  men,  how 
to  detect,  55. 

Creeds,  medical,  supposed  enforce- 
ment of,  140  et  seq. 

Critics,  made  from  Authors'  chips, 
32. 

Crooked  Footpath,  The,  (poem,) 
128. 


D. 


Dance  of  Death,  334. 

Dancing  and  bobbing,  27. 

Daniel  Malcolm,  his  grave-stone, 
3,  386. 

Dark,  fancies  in  the,  341. 

Darwin,  Dr.,  102. 

Deaf-mute  child,  expression  of, 
288. 

Death-bed  Literature,  367  et  seq. 

Death,  before  expiring,  347;  the 
white  fruit  called,  349;  signs  of, 
383. 

Deity,  the,  in  books  and  the  uni- 
verse, 13. 

Depolarization  of  sacred  books, 
146,  147,  158. 

De  Sauty,  (poem,)  33. 

"  Devil's  footsteps,"  235. 

Diaphragm,  moral  effects  of  dis- 
ease above  and  below,  370. 

Dictionary,  Boston,  50;  Richard- 
son's, 55 ;  Dictionaries,  war  of,  54, 
65. 


Dido,  76. 
Divinity-Student,  26, 

et  seq.,  377  et  seq. 
Dowdyism,  171. 


E. 


5,  136,  163 


Ear-rings,  their  suggestions,  124. 

Earth,  a  great  factory-wheel,  154. 

Eau-de-vie  de  Dantzic, 

Ectopia  cordis,  326. 

Editorials,  furnished  by  friends, 

211. 
Ehud,  149. 
Englishman,  conversation  with,  43 ; 

thinks  as  he  likes,  101. 
Epeolatry,  147. 
Epithets,  worn  out,  188. 
Equilibrium,   we  cannot   rest  in, 

347. 
Esther,  171. 


F. 


Facts,  remote,  collision  of,  69. 

Faith,  American,  necessarily  dif- 
ferent from  all  others,  274;  self- 
reliance,  117. 

Family-resemblances,  242. 

Fancies  frighten  us  more  than  be- 
liefs, 204. 

Fashion,  an  attempt  to  realize  art, 
190. 

Fight  of  Harry  and  the  butcher,  64. 

Finnegass,  Henry,  Esq.,  394. 

Fits  of  easy  transmission,  30. 

Flambeaux  of  life,  puffed  out,  67. 

Flamingo,  the,  201. 

Flattery,  acted  better  than  spo- 
ken, 171. 

Flournoy,  J.  J.,  his  Dissertation,  6. 

Food  of  child,  sweetened  by  Na- 
ture, 83. 

Forests,  built  of  air,  83. 

Frederick,  our,  21. 

Freethinker,  a  term  of  reproach 
in  England,  102. 

Furniture,  our  ancient,  237. 


Gahs,  the    boarding-house   lighted 

with,  400. 
Gayatri,  the,  9. 


INDEX. 


i<>7 


Genius,    should    marry    character, 

862;  as  a  fountain,  30*4;  has  truth- 
fuln —  .  366. 

Gk.ntlkman  and  Lady  for  man  and 
woman,  1S3. 

Georges,  our,  21. 

Gil  l   •    .'■•:  rises,  239. 

Gingerbread-rabbit  expression, 
24. 

Girl,  beautiful  young  one.  a  terrible 
fact.  222. 

Good-breeding  is  surface-Chris- 
tianity. l(  ~. 

Gravel,  clean,  the  best  of  ano- 
dvn- 

Great  Skcrbt,  the,  223  et  seq.,  227. 

Great  Teaches,  the,  loved  to  talk 
at  meat.  10. 

Greek,  the  young,  357. 

Gulf-stream,  the,  18. 


If. 


Hancock.  Hou.se.  52. 
Haow, 

Hah  of  Professor's  classmate,  sin- 
gular change  in,  100. 

Haik-m'kim.,  pulling  it  out  of 
watch,  53. 

Hating  ourselves  as  we  hate  our 
neishbors,  343. 

Heart,  atrophy  of,  women  subject 
to,  314:   latent  caloric  from,  363. 

Hercules,  rehearsing  the  part  of 
112. 

Hereditary  infirmities,  25. 

Heresy,  the  word  little  used,  148. 

Heroism  of  fashionable  people,  176 

••  Hiram."  117.  120. 

HoLYOEB,  Dr..  10. 

HoMCEOPATHY,  14. 

Hopkins,  Sam,  19. 

Horses,  fri-kiuess  of  in  November, 

17. 
Hottentot    acquaintance    of    the 

author,  '. 
H«  >U8E,  on  fire,  how  we  know  it,  1 99 ; 

the  haunted,  204. 

v  of  Chinese  talkers,  37. 
Hymn  ok  Trust,  (poem,)  356. 


Ideas    held    antagonistically    and 
spontaneously,  102. 


I  i.ovk  you,  all  that  manv  women 
have  to  tell,  227. 

Index,  expurgatorious,  157. 

Indian,  the,  what  he  is,  308. 

Indians,  a  provisional  race,  104. 

Infirmities,  tendency  to  refer  to 
them,  119. 

In>anity,  most  prevalent  where 
there  is  most  active  intelligence, 
274. 

[bis,  27,  67,  74;  (story  of,)  110,  121, 
126,  173,  215,  217,  218,  223,226, 
229,  232,  262  et  seq.,  281  el  seq., 
298,  304,  315,  318,  335  et  seq.,  343, 
366,  380,  390,  395  el  seq.,  397,  398. 

Iris,  her  Book,  (poem,)  285. 


Jeddo,  moat  at,  13. 

Jeremy  Bertram's  logic,  238. 

Jeunesse  doree  of  New  York,  108. 

"  Jewelry,"  27. 

John,  voong  man  called,  4,  16,  22, 
52,  53,  98,  99,  172,  208,  212,  et  seq., 
233,  257,  258,  278,  342,  394,  399. 

Jonathan  Edwards,  143. 

Judicial  character  not  captivating 
in  females,  127. 

Justice,  abstract,  love  of,  188. 


Kent,  his  affectation  of  bluntness,37. 

Kiss,  Alain  Chartier's,  338. 

Knocking  down,  illusions  respect- 
ing, 351. 

Knowledge,  leaking  in  and  out 
of,  18. 

u  Koh-i-noor,"  the,  20,  26,  53,  98 
et  seq..  121,  217,  233,  350  tt  stq., 
392. 


L. 


••  Lamia."  206. 

Landlady,  122,  257,  259,  316,  377, 
401. 

Landlady's    daughter,    27,    354, 

393,  401. 

Language,  a  solemn  thing,  53. 
Law,  barbarism  in,  133. 
Lay-fbeai  bee,  sermon  by,  9. 

u  L.  B.,"  12,  23.  26. 

Leah,  the  witch  of  Essex,  391. 


408 


INDEX. 


Learned  professions,  the  three, 
emerging  from  barbarism,  132. 

Lecture-room,  laws  of,  146,  155. 

Letter  from  a  young  girl,  312. 

Library,  a  mental  chemist's  shop, 
31. 

Life,  a  bundle  of  what,  1;  adjusted 
for  men,  313. 

Little  Boston,  25,  215. 

Little  children  to  love  one  another, 
397. 

Little  Gentleman,  the,  2,  12,  49, 
57,  58,  59,  97,  109  et  seq.,  123,  125, 
149  et  seq.,  216,  229,  232,  234,  258, 
260,  261,  273  et  seq.,  315,  318,  324 
et  seq.,  343  et  seq.,  349,  355,  379. 

Lives  cut  rose-diamond-fashion  the 
truest,  41. 

Living  Skeleton,  166. 

Logic  of  young  children,  264. 

Long  trains  in  the  street,  193  et 
seq. 

Love,  magnets,  201;  signs  of,  360. 

LUCRETIA,  74. 


Moral  surgery,  143. 

Mother,  old  man's  recollections  of 
a  young,  231;  American,  her 
apron-strings,  what  made  of, 
359. 

Mouse,  what  it  is,  354. 

Mrs.  Allen's  Preparation,  not  a 
dye,  100. 

Muggletonians,  their  odd  way  of 
dealing  with  people,  371. 

Musk-deer,  not  intimate  with  civet- 
cat,  362. 

Mysteries  made  of  plain  matters, 
324. 


N. 


Nature  kind  to  her  poorest  chil- 
dren, 111;  always  applying  re- 
agents to  character,  113. 

Nervousness,  321. 

Ne'  York,  106;  its  characteristics, 
107. 


0. 


M. 


Madam  Blaize,  291. 
Maelzel's  automaton,  20. 
Magnolia,  grows  at  Cape  Ann, 
Malcolm,  Captain  Daniel,  3. 
Man,  his  creation  involved  that  of 

woman,  63. 
Manners,  maxims  concerning,  175. 
Marriage,  young  man  called  John 

discourses  of,  214. 
Martineau,  Mr.,  101. 
Marylanders,  ripen  well,  63. 
Mather,  Cotton,  12,  144. 
Mather,  Increase,  burned  Calef's 

book,  10. 
Medicine,  plague  that  fell  on  it,  14; 

barbarism  of,  132. 
Mekt'n'-house,  Bosting,  4. 
Mental  movement  in  three  parts, 

46. 
Mental  reactions  with  life,  29. 
Midsummer,  (poem,)  284. 
Milton's  time  of  writing,  30. 
Mind  forms  neutral  salts  with  cer- 
tain elements,  31 ;  compared  to  a 

circus-rider,  47. 
"  Model  of  all  the  Virtues," 

the,  69,  88  et  seq.,  126,  168,  183, 

187,  396,  397,  399. 
Mollusk,  eggs  of  a,  323. 


Ocean-carle  literature,  32. 

Old  Gentleman  opposite,  26, 109, 
230,  350,  401. 

Old  World,  its  soil  thoroughly 
humanized,  309. 

Old- World  and  New-World  civili- 
zation, 44. 

Old- World  locks  and  canals,  372. 

O'm,  the  Hindoo  word,  8. 

Opening  of  the  Piano,  The, 
(poem,)  92. 

Opinions  of  a  man  worth  more  than 
his  arguments,  146. 

Otis,  .Tim,  19. 

Outsiders  and  insiders,  377. 


Park-Street  Church,  13. 

Parallax  of  truths,  9. 

Passions,  the  pale  ones  ai-e  fiercest, 

337. 
Persons  born  too  far  north,  305. 
Philadelphia,  its  characteristics, 

106. 
Phillips  and  Denegri,  3. 
Philosophical  habits,  man  of,  his 

disadvantage,  338. 
Phrenological   experiences,    246 

et  seq. 


INDEX. 


409 


Phbemoloot,  lecture  on,  24'.'. 
Pictures  and  casts  in  Professor's 
Btady,  36. 

PlR.YNEM,  300. 

Poe,  Edgar,  talks  against  Boston, 
355;  ends  unfortunately,  355. 

Poets  old  before  their  time,  301; 
in  America,  308. 

Polarized  words,  8. 

Poor  Delation,  26,  27,  115,  117, 
153,  163,  259,  342,  350,  394,  401. 

Portrait  of  the  Witch  of  Essex.  329. 

PORTRAIT-PAINTING,  239  tt  Seq. 

Professor,  the,  a  good  listener, 
21;  whether  anything  is  left  for 
him,  29;  his  theological  talk,  129 
et  seq.,  136;  loves  to  go  to  church, 
269;  his  farewell  address,  402;  his 
belief  when  5S23  years  old,  264. 

Professors  cling  to  their  chairs, 
17. 

Prophets  of  evil,  317. 

Protestantism,  unpoetical  side  of, 
225. 

Puddingstone,  322. 


Quality,  the,  168. 

Quarrelling  among  our  literary 
people  uncommon,  93. 

QuEsnoHS  addressed  to  the  Profes- 
sor, 257. 

Quintain,  the,  151. 


Paces,  provisional,  103. 

Railroad  village  and  the  pyra- 
mids, 310. 

Red-crayon  sketch  of  humanity, 
Indian  is,  104. 

BsFOBMSSp,  the.  255. 

Religion,  our,  must  be  American- 
ized. 260. 

Reversed  current  in  flow  of 
thought  and  emotion,  185. 

Rich  people,  the  most  agreeable 
companions,  171;  natures  in  fash- 
ionable society,  189. 

Ring,  the  funeral,  11. 

BoBDisoa  ov  Li-vuKN.  (poem,)  221. 

Boms  and  Reason,  155. 

'•  Rookery."  the,  391. 

Rousseau,  309. 


lb 


Saint  Anthony,  the  Reformer,  255. 

Salem,  53. 

Savate,  the,  66. 

Science,  or  knowledge,  not  the 
enemy  of  religion,  142. 

Schoolmistress,  the,  213,  390. 

Sculpin,  the,  2,  22,  23. 

Sentiment,  Christianity  full  of, 
3S1,  395. 

"Sentimental"  religion,  156. 

Sewall,  Chief  Justice,  12. 

Seward,  Mr.,  101. 

Siiimei,  Rab-shakeh,  etc.,  151, 
159. 

Soap,  the  Koh-i-noor's  present  of, 
123. 

Soul,  Nature's  preparations  for  un- 
earthing, 348. 

Sounds,  in  Little  Gentleman's  room, 
203,  218,  277;  strange,  heard  in 
night,  206. 

Spiritualism,  15;  its  effects,  135. 

Spelling,  Boston,  51. 

Stars-of-Bethleiiem,  the,  311. 

State  House,  Boston,  68,  354. 
355. 

Steam-tug,  the  little,  365. 

Stethoscope,  325. 

Store-room,  the  dark,  237. 

Strong,  the,  hate  the  weak,  23. 

St.  Saba,  Monastery  of,  156. 

Suicide,  laws  of,  210. 

Sulphur  and  supplication,  139. 

"  Summons  for  Sleepers,"  148. 

Sun-day  Hymn,  (poem,)  402. 

Sunsets,  Boston,  103. 

Surgeons,  said  to  grow  hard-heart- 
ed, 331. 

Surprise-parties,  94  el  seq. 


T. 


Table,    position    of    boarders    at, 

26. 
Tadpoles,   confined    in    the  dark, 

305. 
Talent  and  genius,  302  et  seq. 
Talk  of  pretty  women,  38. 
Telescope,  the  Little  Gentleman's, 

388. 
Temperancb  Song,  the  Prof 

41. 
Tempi  a  i  ion,  the  Professor's,  337. 
I  subset,  Bey.  William,  224. 


410 


INDEX. 


Theologian,  the  heart  makes  the, 

154. 
Theologians,     liable     to     become 

hard-hearted,  332. 
Theology,  barbarism  in,  133. 
Thinking  what  we  like,  148. 
Thomas  and  Jeremiah,  21. 
Thought,  the  ashes  of  thinking,  30. 
Thoughts,  flow  in  layers,  45;    no 

space  between  consecutive,  47. 
Three-hilled    city,    the,  against 

the  seven-hilled  city,  98. 
Three  Maiden  Sisters,  book  of 

the,  289. 
Time  and  thirst,  385. 
Transplantation   necessary    for 

some  youiig  natures,  306. 
Trick  of  the  Boys  at  Commons,  71. 
Trigamy,  6. 
Tripod  of  life,  328. 
Trotting  matches,  cabalistic  phra- 
seology of,  209. 
Truth,  bandaging  and  unbandaging 

of,  49;  the  Ocean  of,  116;  is  tough, 

137;  fencing  in  of,  373;  Smithate 

and  Brownate  of,  375. 
Turtle,  effect  of  live  coal  on  his 

back,  35. 
Tutor,  the  old  Latin,  74  et  seq. 
Tutors  die  by  starvation,  77. 
Two  and  two  do  not  make  four  in 

hereditary  descent,  85. 
Two  Streams,  The,  (poem,)  192. 


U. 


Underbred  people  tease  the  sick 

and  dying,  181. 
Undertaker,  the  young,  393. 
Under  the  Violets,  (poem,)  319. 


Vessels,  touching  each  other,  69. 
View,    persons    who    cannot    pro- 
nounce, 190. 
Virginia,  75. 


Voice,  effect  of,  56;  woman's,  sound 

resembling,  388. 
Vox  liumana  stop,  205. 


W. 

Walrus,  Neighbor,  his  flowers,  312. 

Warren,  Joe,  19. 

Washington  societies,  109. 

Water  of  crystallization,  books  and 
pictures  are  to  scholars,  78. 

Wealth,  its  permanence,  190. 

"  Webster's  Unabridged,"  49,  50. 

What  men  women  love,  200. 

What  one  would  most  dislike  to 
tell,  113. 

Whiskey,  its  virtues,  166. 

Wicks,  three,  to  lamp  of  life.,  327. 

Wilkes,  John,  111. 

Will,  the  "  Autocrat ' '  on,  43. 

Wine  at  dinner,  its  theoretical  use, 
40. 

Wolves,  stones  on  graves  to  keep 
them  off,  331. 

Woman,  the  Messiah  of  a  new  Reve- 
lation, 157. 

Women  can  shape  a  husband  out  of 
anything,  198 ;  have  a  sixth  sense, 
336;  and  girls  we  cannot  reason 
with,  345. 

Word,  a,  the  saddle  of  a  thought,  48. 

Words,  Boston,  51. 

Wordsworth,  202. 

Worthylakes,  3;  their  triple 
gravestone,  386. 


Yankees  are  a  kind  of  gypsies,  310. 
Yorkshire  groom,  his  discomfiture, 

65. 
Young  man  John,  399. 
Young  Marylander,   26,   55,  56, 

57,   108,   234,  267,   344,    359,   366, 

397,  398. 
Young  mothers,  poisoning  of,  150. 
Youth  and  Age,  tests  between,  71. 


/ 


